THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


BOOKS  BY  S.  S.  CURRY,  Ph.D.,  Litt.D. 


More  than  any  man  of  recent  years,  Dr.  Curry  has  represented  sane 
and  scientific  methods  in  training  the  Speaking  Voice.  —  De.  Shailkk 
Mathews,  University  of  Chicago. 

Of  eminent  value. —  De.  Lyman  Abbott. 

Books  so  much  needed  by  the  world  and  which  will  not  be  written  unless 
you  write  them.  — Kev.  C.  H.  Steong,  Rector  St.  John's  Church,  Savannah. 

Mind   and   Voice.    Principles  and  Methods  in  Vocal  Training.    456  pp. 

— — —  Price,  $1.50;  to  teachers,  $1.25,  postpaid.    A  work  of 

vital  interest  to  Clergymen,  Teachers,  Singers,  Lawyers,  Lecturers,  Public 
Readers,  Dramatic  Artists,  and  every  one  interested  in  the  right  use  of  the 
voice.  Every  vocal  problem  discussed  and  technical  exercises  for  every 
fault  systematically  arranged  for  private  study  or  class  use. 

The  book  is  a  masterpiece  and  one  that  every  teacher  of  voice,  whether 
for  singing  or  speaking,  should  possess.  — Edith  W.  Moses,  State  College 
for  Women,  Tallahassee,  Fla. 

Foundations    Of   Expression.   Fundamentals     of     a    psychological 

— — — — ^ -^ — — — —  method  of  developing  reading  and 
speaking  by  harmoniously  training  mind,  body,  and  voice.  236  problems; 
411  choice  passages.  A  thorough  and  practical  text-book  for  schools  and 
colleges  and  for  private  study.    Price,  $1.25;  to  teachers,  $1.10,  postpaid. 

The  more  I  use  "  Foundations  "  the  better  I  like  it.  It  is  safe,  sane,  and 
practical.  —  Arthur  T.  Belknap,  Professor  of  English,  Franklin  College. 

LeSSOnS   in   Vocal    Expression.   The  expressive  modulations  of  the 
_  voice   developed  by  studying  and 

training  the  voice  and  mind  in  relation  to  each  otber.  Definite  problems 
and  progressive  steps.    Price,  $1.25;  to  teachers,  $1.10,  postpaid. 

It  is  capital,  good  sense,  and  real  instruction.  —  W.  E.  Huntington,  LL.D., 
President  of  Boston  University. 

Imagination  and  Dramatic  Instinct.  Function  of  the  imagination 

: _^—_ _____ — —  and    assimilation    in     the 

vocal  interpretation  of  literature  and  speaking.  Price,  $1.50;  to  teachers, 
$1.25,  postpaid. 

Dr.  Curry  well  calls  the  attention  to  the  processes  of  thinking  in  the 
modulation  of  the  voice.  Too  much  stress  can  hardly  be  laid  on  the  author's 
ground  principle.  —  De.  Lyman  Abbott,  in  The  Outlook. 

Browning  and  the  Dramatic  Monologue.  Nature  and  pecuiiar- 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — ____—_. — — — — —  ities    of    Browning's 

poetry.  Principles  involved  in  rendering  the  monologue.  An  introduction 
to  Browning,  and  to  dramatic  platform  art.  Price,  $1.25  ;  to  teachers,  $1.10, 
postpaid. 

Province   Of   Expression.   Principles  and  Methods  of  developing  de- 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —   livery.    An   introduction   to   the  study  of 

natural  languages,  and  their  relation  to  art  and  development.  Price,  $1.50 ; 
teachers,  $1.20,  postpaid. 

Your  volume  is  to  me  a  very  wonderful  book.  You  have  laid  a  deep  and 
strong  foundation  for  a  scientific  system.  —  Peofessoe  Alexander 
Melville  Bell. 

Vocal  and  Literary  Interpretation  of  the  Bible,  introduc- 

tion  by  Pro- 
fessor Francis  G.  Peabody,  D.D.,  of  Harvard  University.  Price,  $1.50, 
postpaid. 

A  book  that  we  would  introduce  into  every  theological  seminary.  .  .  . 
The  work  of  a  master  in  his  sphere.  —  Methodist  Protestant,  Baltimore. 

Deserves  the  attention  of  everyone. —  The  Scotsman,  Edinburgh. 

A  most  timely  volume,  which,  indeed,  can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  a  pred- 
ecessor. —  The  Churchman,  New  York. 

Classics  for  Vocal   Expression.   Gems  from  the  best  authors  for 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — ■ — —— —  vocal  training  and  interpretation. 

In  use  in  the  foremost  schools  and  colleges.  Price,  $1.25  ;  to  teachers,  $1.10, 
postpaid. 

The  book  is  so  comprehensive  in  its  scope  and  so  definite  in  its  purpose 
that  it  is  easily  the  best  book  of  its  kind.  —  Teachers'   World. 


Book  Dcpl.,  School  of  Expression,  308  Pierce  Bldg.,  Copley  Sq.,  Boston,  Mass. 


LESSONS 


IN 


VOCAL   EXPRESSION 

Course  I. 

PROCESSES    OF    THINKING   IN   THE 
MODULATION   OF  THE  VOICE. 


BY 


S.   S.  CURRY,  Ph.D. 


AUTHOR  OF  "THE  PROVINCE  OF  EXPRESSION";     DEAN   OF  THE  SCHOOL  OF  EXPRESSION 
INSTRUCTOR   IN   ELOCUTION   AT   TALE   DIVINITY   SCHOOL    AND   NEWTON   THEO- 
LOGICAL   INSTITUTION,    AND   FORMERLY   IN   BOSTON    UNIVERSITY 
AND   HARVARD    UNIVERSITY. 


Qj3o0fon 

THE    EXPRESSION    COMPANY 

Pierce  Building,  Copley  Square 


Copyright,  1896, 
By  S.  S.  CurrV. 


11 


CONTENTS 


1ESSON  PAGE 

Introduction 1 

I.  Ideas  and  Elemental  Relations. 

I.   Study  of  Nature 11 

II.   Sequence  of  Ideas 18 

III.  Conception 26 

IV.  Abandon 35 

V.  Responsiveness .     .     .     , 45 

VI.   Modes  of  Expression 50 

VII.   Change  of  Pitch 56 

VIII.   Pausing 62 

IX.   Education  of  the  Eye 69 

X.  Phrasing • 73 

XI.   Simplicity 80 

XII.   Animation 87 

II.  Method,  ok  Logical  Relations. 

XIII.  Accentuation 9"} 

XIV.  Touch 102 

XV.   Centralization 110 

XVI.   Conversational  Form 117 

XVII.   Method  of  Thought  and  Words .127 

XVIII.  Method  in  Narration 138 

XIX.   Method  in  Description 147 

XX.   Antithesis 152 

XXI.  Soliloquy 159 

XXII.  Inflectional  Modulation 168 


1005057 


IV  CONTENTS. 

LESSON  PAGE 

XXIII.  Direction  of  Inflection 172 

XXIV,  Length  of  Inflection 177 

XXV.  Abruptness  of  Inflection 180 

XXVI.  Emotion  and  Inflection 183 

XXVII.  Straightness  of  Inflection 188 

XXVIII.  Freedom  of  Inflection i93 

XXIX.  Intervals  of  Pitch 201 

XXX.  Subordination „  206 

XXXI.  Silence  as  a  Means  of  Emphasis      ........  209 

XXXII.  Movement 213 

XXXIII.  Texture  and  Tone-Color 218 

XXXIV.  Force  and  Loudness 223 

XXXV.  Modes  of  Emphasis 226 

XXXVI.  Degrees  of  Emphasis 231 

XXXVII.  Faults  of  Emphasis 235 

XXXVIII.  Development  of  Method 244 

XXXIX.  Clearness 249 

XL.  Earnestness 253 

III.  Modes  of  Development. 

XLI.  Modes  of  Expression 263 

XLII.  Conversation 266 

XLIII.  Extemporaneous  Speaking 269 

XLIV.  Discussion  and  Debate 272 

XLV.  Recitation ,     .  274 

XL VI.  Criticism  and  Appreciation 279 


INTRODUCTION. 


EXPRESSION  implies  cause,  means,  and  effect.  It  is  a  nat- 
ural effect  of  a  natural  cause,  and  hence  k  governed  by  all 
the  laws  of  nature's  processes.  The  cause  is  in  the  mind,  the 
means  are  the  voice  and  the  body. 

Expression  may  be  improved  by  stimulating  the  cause,  by  de- 
veloping the  organic  means,  —  the  voice  and  body, — by  training 
them  to  be  more  flexible  and  responsive  to  the  mind,  or  by  bringing 
them  under  better  control ;  and,  lastly,  by  securing  a  better  knowl- 
edge of  right  modes  of  execution  and  greater  skill  in  their  use. 
The  process  of  improving  the  voice  and  making  it  a  more  ade- 
quate agent  in  expression  is  called  Vocal  Training.  The  process 
of  improving  the  body  and  making  it  a  better  agent  for  the  mani- 
festation of  the  soul  may  be  called  Pantomimic  Training.  The 
manifestation  of  the  actions  of  the  mind  through  the  body  may 
be  called  Pantomimic  Expression,  and  that  through  the  voice, 
Vocal  Expression. 

The  word  "  Expression  "  covers  eveiy  possible  revelation  of  a 
human  being,  and  implies  any  means  or  mode  of  manifesting 
the  conceptions  or  emotions,  the  conditions  or  dispositions  of 
the  soul.  Every  art  is  an  art  of  expression.  Expression  also 
names  the  manifestation  in  animals  of  their  instinctive  actions 
and  conditions. 

Man  has  many  modes  of  expression.  His  natural  expression 
in  speaking  is  composed  of  three  forms :  Verbal,  or  the  symbolic 
representation  of  ideas;  Vocal,  or  the  manifestation  of  the 
processes  of  the  mind,  of  feelings  and  emotions  through  the 
modulation  of  tone;  and  thud,  Pantomimic,  or  the  manifes- 
tation of  emotions  and  conditions  through  the  motions  and 
positions  of  the  various  parts  of  the  body.    The  term  "  elocution" 


2  INTRODUCTION. 

is  often  applied  to  the  whole  of  delivery,  to  all  Pantomimic 
and  Vocal  Expression,  and  also  to  Articulation.  Elocution  is  also 
used  in  a  narrower  sense  as  standing  merely  for  the  technique 
of  Vocal  Expression,  and  at  times  it  is  applied  merely  to  right 
articulation  or  the  utterance  of  Verbal  Expression. 

Vocal  Expression,  to  which  the  present  work  is  devoted,  is 
that  part  of  delivery  which  refers  to  the  manifestation  of  the 
processes  of  thought  and  feeling,  the  emotions  and  relative  con- 
ditions of  the  man,  through  the  modulations  of  his  tones.  It 
does  not  include  articulation,  or  pronunciation,  which  refer  to 
the  moulding  of  tone  into  words,  and  which  will  be  included  in 
the  work  on  Vocal  Training.  Vocal  Expression,  as  here  used, 
refers  simply  to  the  modulations  of  the  inflections,  the  textures, 
and  the  resonance  of  the  voice,  by  the  actions  of  the  mind  and 
the  emotions  and  conditions  of  the  man. 

There  are  two  modes  in  common  use  for  the  improvement  of 
Vocal  Expression.  The  first  is  by  Imitation,  which  endeavors 
to  improve  Expression  by  making  one  man  copy  the  speech  of 
another  who  is  supposed  to  speak  better  than  himself.  The  other 
method  endeavors  to  analyze  the  modulations  of  the  voice  as 
independent  acts  of  the  will,  and  to  exercise  the  student  upon 
them  so  as  to  give  him  conscious  control  over  them.  It  pro- 
fesses to  have  discovered  the  right  signs  of  emotion,  and  by 
teaching  these  signs  professes  to  teach  delivery  objectively  and 
scientifically. 

Both  of  these  methods  are  imperfect.  Imitation  overlooks 
the  fact  that  men  are  different  in  temperament,  in  rhythm  of 
thought,  in  the  pitch  of  their  voices,  and  in  the  texture  and  res- 
onance of  tone,  and  that  they  can  never  be  made  alike  without 
superficializing  and  destroying  individual  elements  of  power. 
The  second,  or  mechanical  method,  even  if  it  recognized,  as  it 
does  not,  the  true  signs  of  emotion,  causes  the  student  to  think 
of  the  modulation  of  his  voice  as  an  end  and  not  as  a  means ;  to 
think  of  the  sign  rather  than  of  the  thing  signified.     The  focus 


INTRODUCTION.  3 

of  the  mind  is  transferred  by  such  a  method  from  the  centre  or 
cause,  the  process  of  thinking,  and  placed  upon  the  effect,  or  the 
mere  mode  of  delivery.  Those  actions  of  the  voice  which  in 
nature  are  always  free  and  constantly  varying  according  to  the 
spontaneous  effect  of  the  process  of  the  mind  in  thinking  and 
f  eeling,  have  been  made  fixed  and  subject  to  rule.  An  artificial 
set  of  signs  has  been  arranged  which  the  student  must  learn 
and  use  in  recitation  and  speaking  according  to  rule.  More- 
over, many  of  the  most  important  of  the  natural  modulations  of 
the  voice  have  been  overlooked  and  eliminated  by  this  system, 
and  the  natural,  free,  and  flexible  modulation  of  inflection  and 
changes  of  pitch  have  been  interfered  with  and  made  monoto- 
nous and  mechanical. 

Both  of  these  methods  proceed  from  without  inward,  and  not 
as  nature  always  does,  from  within  outward.      They  tend  there- 
fore to  make  men  unnatural,  and  have  caused  prejudice  against 
elocution  in  some   of  the  ablest  and  most  observant  minds. 
The  highest  requisite  of  all  expression,  especially  Vocal  Expres-    J  I 
sion,  is  that  it  shall  be  natural.     It  must  be  in  some  sense  a 
direct  and  spontaneous  result  of  its  cause,  which  lies  in  the  pro- 
cesses of  thought,  the  earnestness,  the  purpose,  the  feeling,  and 
the  general  attitude  of  the  man  who  speaks.    Vocal  Expression, 
in  fact,  whenever  it  is  true  and  adequate,  is  the   nearest  to 
nature,  the  most  spontaneous  and  unconscious,  of  any  actions 
peculiar  to  man.     Many  of  the  modulations  of  the  voice  are  as 
involuntary  as  the  twinkle  of  the  eye.    No  method  has  ever  yet 
succeeded  in  making  them  completely  voluntary  without  making 
them  superficial  and  mechanical.    In  short,  Vocal  Expression  is  , , 
the  most  subjective  and  spontaneous  form  of  art;  it  is  the  most  ! 
immediate  manifestation  of  thought  and  feeling.     It  does  not  / 
represent  products,  but  manifests  processes ;  it  reveals  emotions ' 
and  conditions ;  it  is  the  out-breathing  of  the  lae  of  the  soul. 

This  book  is  an  endeavor  to  meet  the  problem  of  delivery 
from  another  point  of  view,  and  to  arrange  some  steps  for  its 


4  rSTTRODUCTIOIf. 

improvement  different  from  either  of  the  two  methods  commonly 
in  use.  There  is  an  endeavor  to  recognize  the  fact  that  the  tech- 
nical actions  of  Vocal  Expression  must  be  studied  side  by  side  with 
the  actions  of  the  mind,  which  they  manifest.  Everything  pro- 
ceeds upon  the  principle  that  in  natural  expression  every  modu- 
lation of  the  voice  is  the  direct  effect  of  some  action  or  condition 
of  the  mind,  and  that  very  frequently  wrong  action  of  delivery 
can  be  traced  to  wrong  action  in  thinking,  such  as  one-sided- 
ness,  lack  of  control  over  emotion,  lack  of  imagination,  or  the 
fact  that  conception  is  too  abstract.  Delivery  is.  a  question  of 
responsiveness.  A  fault  of  delivery  may  be  caused  by  inade- 
quate or  incorrect  mental  action,  or  by  some  hindrance  to  the 
transmission  '  of  this  mental  or  volitional  action  through  the 
organism ;  that  is,  by  some  constriction,  lack  of  control,  or  misuse 
of  the  voice  or  the  body ;  or  it  may  be  due  to  some  misconcep- 
tion of  the  nature  of  delivery,  or  to  bad  habits  resulting  from 
such  misconceptions,  unconscious  imitation,  or  weakness. 

No  problem  of  education  presents  more  difficulties  than  the 
improvement  of  delivery.  Some  even  doubt  the  possibility  of 
its  development.  The  student  should,  therefore,  at  his  first  step 
glance  carefully  over  the  whole  field,  in  order  to  secure  a  correct 
general  conception  of  the  nature  of  the  work  he  is  undertaking.* 

At  first  thought,  delivery  is  a  very  simple  thing.  To  the 
student  it  seems  the  most  superficial  part  of  education ;  but  on 
mature  consideration  it  will  be  found  to  be  one  of  the  most  com- 
plex subjects  with  which  the  mind  has  to  deal,  one  of  the  most 
difficult  problems  that  education  has  to  meet. 

I  Only  a  few  facts  need  be  mentioned  to  show  this.  It  is  sub- 
jective.  A  flower  can  be  held  before  the  eye,  torn  to  pieces,  and 
part  studied  in  contrast  with  part ;  but  delivery  is  the  utterance 
of  the  highest  faculties  and  powers,  the  subtlest  thoughts  and 
emotions,  the  deepest  intuitions  and  impulses  of  the  soul. 

*  See  "  The  "  Province  of  Expression,"  for  a  more  complete  discussion  of  vari- 
ous aspects  of  the  problem  of  delivery. 


INTRODUCTION.  5 

Again,  it  is  not  merely  a  study  of  conscious  and  voluntary 
actions,  but  is  dependent  upon  the  unity  of  conscious  and  un- 
conscious, voluntary  and  spontaneous  impulses.  Every  power 
of  the  mind,  as  well  as  every  part  of  the  body,  plays  a  role  more 
or  less  distinct ;  but  at  the  same  time,  the  simplest  act  of  ex- 
pression calls  for  a  natural,  even  unconscious  unity  of  all  the 
powers  of  the  mind  and  agents  of  the  body.  To  develop  ex- 
pTessitmTtherefore,  the  subtlest  intellectual,  emotional,  and  phy- 
sical actions  and  conditions  must  be  stimulated  and  trained. 

Beside  all  this,  the  problem  is  different  in  many  respects  for 
every  personality.  No  two  men  are  alike;  and  the  distinct 
peculiarities  of  every  character  modify  expression.  If  in  develop- 
ing delivery  all  men  are  made  alike,  expression  will  not  be  im- 
proved, but  will  be  made  artificial  and  conventional. 

Again  the  work  is  difficult  on  account  of  the  universal  mis- 
conceptions regarding  it.  Students  begin  their  work  with  the 
expectation  that  some  secret  will  be  conveyed  which  will  give 
the  mastery  of  the  whole  problem.  So  many  think  that  it  is 
merely  physical,  that  they  are  prejudiced  against  any  reference 
to  mental  action.  So  many  regard  it  as  a  mere  matter  of  man- 
ner, that  it  is  difficult  to  awaken  any  attention  to  causes.  So 
many  regard  it  as  merely  the  exhibition  of  external  feats,  that 
it  is  not  easy  to  get  them  to  observe  the  unconscious  and  spon- 
taneous actions  of  their  nature  or  to  stimulate  and  direct  them. 
So  many  regard  it  as  superficial  and  mechanical  that  it  is  hard 
to  get  them  to  study  the  action  of  the  whole  man. 

The  problem  of  delivery  is  so  important  and  yet  so  often  mis- 
conceived that  the  student  should  weigh  well  each  of  the  follow- 
ing propositions,  which  could  be  easily  expanded  into  a  volume. 
They  arm  to  show  the-nature  of  delivery  and  the  possibility  of 
developing  its  elements  and  power. 

1.  Delivery  is  adequate  in  proportion  as  it  tells  the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  and  nothing  hut  the  truth,  by  every  agent  or  modulation  of  the 
body. 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

2.  All  delivery  aims  to  make  men  hear,  understand,  think,  and  feel. 

3.  Speech  interests  and  moves  us  in  proportion  as  it  reveals  adequately 
the  emotion,  relations,  or  attitude  of  the  speaker  toward  his  thought,  and 
also  in  proportion  to  the  weight  of  his  character  or  personality. 

4.  To  improve  expression,  stimulate  a  more  harmonious  action  of  the 
mind,  a  more  natural  and  responsive  use  of  voice  and  body,  and  secure 
more  thorough  knowledge  of  strong  modes  of  execution,  and  develop 
greater  skill  and  mastery  in  their  use. 

5.  To  improve  expression  develop  the  three  elemental  languages  of 
man, — not  only  his  verbal  expression,  but  the  two  natural  languages 
of  tone  and  action,  and  bring  them  into  harmonyo 

6.  Develop  harmoniously  the  elemental  faculties  and  powers  of  man  and 
bring  them  into  greater  unity  and  harmony  with  each  other,  and  also  into 
more  intimate  relationship  with  the  languages  whose  natural  function  is 
to  reveal  their  actions. 

7.  Develop  all  the  languages  of  man  to  act  in  accordance  with  their 
own  nature :  not  only  those  which  act  through  representation,  but  also 
those  that  act  by  manifestation ;  not  only  those  which  are  voluntary,  but 
those  which  are  involuntary. 

8.  Delivery  is  composed  not  only  of  conscious  and  voluntary  actions, 
but  of  involuntary  and  unconscious  elements,  which  can  never  be  made 
directly  voluntary  without  developing  artificiality  and  unnaturalness ; 
hence,  true  training  for  delivery  must  develop  all  elements  harmoniously, 
each  according  to  its  own  nature. 

9.  Secure  insight  into  fundamentals  as  distinguished  from  the  acci- 
dents of  delivery,  and  practise  such  exercises  as  will  develop  the  elementals 
and  bring  them  into  unity  and  harmony. 

10.  Develop  vigor  in  the  fundamental  cause  of  all  expression,  —  the 
process  of  thinking,  —  secure  power  to  concentrate  the  mind,  and  to  hold  it 
upon  idea  after  idea  till  it  becomes  so  vivid  as  to  quicken  the  impulse  and 
dominate  all  the  agents  of  expression. 

11.  Study  not  only  the  act  of  thinking  in  reproducing  the  thought  and 
words  of  another,  but  speak  in  your  own  words  the  results  of  your  own 
observation  and  thought. 

12.  Study  the  best  literature,  and  become  conscious  of  true  simplicity, 
repose  and  other  qualities  of  the  noblest  art,  and  embody  these  elements 
in  the  rendering  of  selected  passages. 

13.  Stimulate  and  train  the  imaginative  and  creative  faculties  of  the 
man  by  the  study  of  great  art  of  all  kinds,  so  as  to  awaken  right  artistic 
feeling  and  develop  taste. 


INTRODUCTION.  t 

14.  Develop  the  normal  and  the  elemental  actions  of  every  agent  of 
voice  and  body  concerned  in  expression,  and  bring  them  into  unity  and 
harmony. 

15.  Relate  and  unite  all  technical  action  to  the  actions  of  the  mind  of 
which  they  are  the  expression.  Study  the  natural  expression  of  the  noblest 
people  whose  expression  is  most  pleasing,  and  contrast  their  modes  of  exe- 
cution with  that  which  is  weak,  so  as  to  be  able  to  appreciate  right  modes 
of  execution,  and  distinguish  them  from  that  which  is  perverted. 


TO  TEACHERS  AND  STUDENTS. 

The  best  exercises  may  be  perverted  by  misuse.  The  study 
or  diagnosis  of  delivery  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  problems  of 
teaching.  The  teacher,  to  develop  it,  must  compare  an  infinite 
number  of  actions,  and  penetrate  to  that  which  is  fundamental. 
It  requires  thorough  knowledge  of  the  actions  of  the  mind  and 
of  the  structure  of  the  body ;  it  requires  knowledge  of  human 
nature  and  of  the  principles  of  art ;  it  requires  the  most  imme- 
diate application  of  the  most  advanced  methods  in  education. 

The  lessons  of  this  book  are  so  arranged  that  the  student  is 
brought  at  once  into  contact  with  extracts  from  good  literature. 
These  are  so  arranged  that  illustrations  can  be  found  before  the 
discussion,  and  others  in  different  parts  of  the  work  can  be  se- 
lected, or  it  may  accompany  the  Classics  for  Vocal  Expression. 

All  theory  must  be  made  secondary  to  practice.  The  student 
must  be  set  to  reading,  reciting,  or  speaking  at  once  in  order  to 
make  him  conscious  of  his  needs,  and  the  necessity  for  training. 
The  text-book  is  only  a  means  of  assistance,  not  an  end  in  itself. 
The  discussions  have  grown  up  in  teaching,  and  are  fragmen- 
tary, and  are  only  meant  to  be  read  over  by  the  student  after 
performance  or  effort  to  express,  to  furnish  additional  light  to 
what  he  finds  from  a  study  of  himself. 

Occasionally  it  is  necessary  to  give  a  student  a  clear  idea  of 
some  specific  problem  or  exercise  before  he  begins  to  read  or 
practise,  but  it  must  be  understood  to  be  only  a  prehminary 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

hypothesis,  to  be  proved  or  disproved  by  bis  own  experiments  in 
practice.  The  true  scientific  method  is  to  have  a  preliminary 
hypothesis,  and  then  experiment  or  observe  for  its  establishment 
or  disproval.     The  same  principle  is  applicable  to  training. 

One  of  the  first  diificulties  to  be  met  is  to  get  a  student  to  recog- 
nize the  spontaneous  activity  of  his  own  nature,  and  that  this  must 
directly  cause  all  expression.  The  processes  of  his  own  thinking 
must  furnish  the  basis,  rather  than  any  external  rule. 

All  art  consists  primarily  in  doing,  in  execution;  we 
cannot  learn  to  swim  without  going  into  the  water.  The 
teacher  must  give  his  explanation  in  the  very  midst  of  practice. 
A  student  must  be  awakened  to  think.  He  must  be  given  such 
problems  as  will  reveal  to  him  his  own  mistakes  and  imperfec- 
tions, or  make  him  conscious  of  attainment.  The  explanations 
are  to  be  given  to  students  to  be  read  out  of  class.  A  part  of 
the  selections  should  be  practised  first  with  a  few  suggestions 
from  the  teacher,  and  others  should  be  assigned  for  definite  and 
special  study,  as  laid  down  in  the  "  Lessons."  The  teacher  will 
be  able  soon  to  judge,  by  the  way  a  student  reads,  whether  he  has 
observed  the  directions  in  his  study  or  not. 

At  times,  of  course,  the  discussion  of  many  points  will  be 
necessary,  but  too  much  theorizing  and  discussion  will  be  inju- 
rious. A  student  must  be  kept  in  an  attitude  of  execution. 
His  understanding  of  the  principles  must  be  shown  by  his  artis- 
tic rendering.  Understanding  is  only  a  preliminary  step.  A 
student  must  first  know,  then  do ;  and  doing,  he  can  become. 

All  the  steps  should  be  illustrated  by  reading,  speaking,  and 
by  recitation.  In  the  selections  for  recitation  the  student  should 
always  be  brought  into  direct  contact  with  literature.  He  should 
make  his  abridgments  himself,  and  should  in  no  case  take  a 
recitation  from  books  of  "  Choice  Selections."  The  student  must 
be  led  to  know  and  feel  a  whole  poem  before  he  attempts  to 
recite  a  part  of  it,  a  whole  play  before  he  gives  a  scene,  a  whole 
oration  before  he  give  a  paragraph,  a  whole  novel  before  he  can 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

give  an  abridgment.  He  must  be  taught  bow  to  read  silently. 
This  text-book  can  be  used  in  many  ways. 

1.  Cause  the  student  to  observe  himself,  to  become  conscious  of  his 
possibilities,  of  his  ideal  as  well  as  of  his  actual,  and  to  compare  the  one 
with  the  other. 

2.  Students  must  be  led  to  observe  and  inspired  to  think  at  all  hazards. 

3.  The  Suudent  must  receive  before  he  can  give;  and  the  way  truth  is  I 
taken  must  determine  the  way  it  is  given.     Reception  and  manifestation,  | 
impression  and  expression,  must  be  regarded  as  essential  to  each  other. 

4.  Never  give  rules;  awaken  a  conception  of  nature's  processes  and 
methods,  and  test  expression  by  truthfulness  to  what  is  natural. 

5.  Give  a  few  clear  ideas,  and  hold  students  to  the  definite  practice  of 
an  exercise  which  embodies  these  ideas.  Remember,  true  practice  is  a 
struggle  to  realize  an  idea. 

6.  Study  each  student's  peculiar  power  as  well  as  needs.  Remember 
that  even  the  greatest  critics  have  continually  taken  qualities  for  faults. 

7.  Interest  and  inspire  students.  Often  change  subject  and  form  of 
literature,  and  correct  any  monotonous  or  mechanical  relation  to  a  subject. 

8.  Do  not  go  too  fast.  Steps  and  lessons  are  divided  in  this  book  ac- 
cording to  subjects,  and  not  according  to  time  to  be  taken :  most  students 
will  require  many  hours  of  study  and  practice  to  master  each  step. 

9.  Have  positive  convictions  and  preseut  the  truth  faithfully;  but  be 
sympathetic  and  receptive  in  regard  to  differences  in  modes  of  execution. 

10.  Remember  that  rarely  do  two  people  see  anything  from  the  same  i 
point  of  view.  It  is  only  the  most  exalted  art  that  can  reveal  and  deter-  I 
mine  a  definite  point  of  view.  • 

11.  Give  students  definite  problems,  and  explanations  of  them,  and 
prescribe  long-continued  practice. 

12.  State  in  a  few  words  the  results  which  have  been  found  after  each 
lesson,  and  indicate  the  point  of  advance  in  passing  from  step  to  step. 

13.  Allow  students  often  to  select  what  they  best  like  in  literature, 
and  encourage  them  to  express  this  in  their  own  way. 

14.  Give  great  poems  and  literary  masterpieces  to  be  studied. 

15.  Never  say  that  a  certain  piece  must  be  given  with  a  certain 
"tone."  Thought  and  passion  are  greater  than  any  tone.  The  poem  is 
greater  than  its  body.  No  two  poems  in  the  world  can  have  exactly  the 
same  expression,  nor  any  two  men  express  the  same  poem  in  precisely 
the  same  way. 

Note.  —  Poetry  in  this  book  is  often  printed  as  prose,  to  aid,  not  to  hinder,  the 
study  of  metre  and  rhythm  and  their  expression  through  the  voice. 


1.    TO  THE   CUCKOO. 

O  blithe  new-comer !  I  have  heard,  I  hear  thee  and  rejoice : 
O  Cuckoo!  shall  I  call  thee  bird,  or  but  a  wandering  Voice? 
While  I  am  lying  on  the  grass,  thy  twofold  shout  I  hear  : 
From  hill  to  hill  it  seems  to  pass,  at  once  far  off  and  near. 

Though  babbling  only  to  the  vale  of  sunshine  and  of  flowers, 
Thou  bringest  unto  me  a  tale  of  visionary  hours. 
Thrice  welcome,  darling  of  the  Spring!  even  yet  thou  art  to  me 
No  bird,  but  an  invisible  thing,  a  voice,  a  mystery. 

The  same  whom  in  my  school-boy  days  I  listen'd  to;  that  Cry 
Which  made  me  look  .a  thousand  ways,  in  bush,  and  tree,  and  sky. 
To  seek  thee  did  I  often  rove  through  woods,  and  on  the  green ; 
And  thou  wert  still  a  hope,  a  love;  still  long'd  for,  never  seen! 

And  I  can  listen  to  thee  yet,  can  lie  upon  the  plain 
And  listen,  till  I  do  beget  that  golden  time  again. 
O  blessed  bird !  the  earth  we  pace  again  appears  to  be 
An  unsubstantial,  fairy  place,  that  is  fit  home  for  Thee ! 

Wordsworth 


2.    THE  LATE  MASSACKE  IN  PIEDMONT. 

Avenge,  O  Lord!  Thy  slaughtered  Saints,  whose  bones 
Lie  scatter* d  on  the  Alpine  mountains  cold; 
Even  them  who  kept  Thy  truth  so  pure  of  old, 

When  all  our  fathers  worshipt  stocks  and  stones. 

Forget  not :  in  Thy  book  record  their  groans 

Who  were  Thy  sheep,  and  in  their  ancient  fold 
Slain  by  the  bloody  Piemontese,  that  roll'd 

Mother  with  infant  down  the  rocks.     Their  moans 

The  vales  redoubled  to  the  hills,  and  they 

To  Heaven.     Their  martyr' d  blood  and  ashes  sow 

O'er  all  the  Italian  fields,  where  still  doth  sway 
The  triple  tyrant,  that  from  these  may  grow 

A  hundred-fold,  who,  having  learnt  Thy  way, 

Early  may  fly  the  Babylonian  woe. 

Milton. 

10 


I. 

IDEAS   AND   ELEMENTAL   RELATIONS. 


L     STUDY  OF  NATURE. 

TF  we  carefully  study  the  two  poems  on  the  preceding  page,  we 
■*-  feel  that  noble  emotion  impelled  the  two  authors  to  write 
them ;  that  they  simply  gave  their  impulses  voice  and  words. 
We  find  that  we  can  read  them'  merely  as  words,  or  statements 
of  facts,  and  that  in  this  case  the  reading  is  cold  and  mechanical. 
The  expression,  too,  of  both  poems,  —  through  the  voice,  its 
tones,  inflections,  and  pitch,  —  can  be  made  essentially  the  same. 

As  we  study  deeper,  however,  and  become  permeated  by  the 
spirit  of  the  two  poems,  —  when  the  ideas  become  visions  in  our 
own  mind,  and  we  become  thoroughly  filled  with  the  emotion,  — 
the  vocal  rendering  of  the  two  begins  to  differ  more  and  more 
widely.  Each  of  them  begins  to  have  a  distinct  and  definite 
character.  Thus  in  every  poem  there  is  not  only  a  peculiar 
thought,  but  also  a  peculiar  spirit,  a  specific  impulse  or  feeling, 
which  is  somehow  awakened  in  the  heart  of  the  reader,  and 
which  gives  definite  character  to  his  rendering. 

Art  is  founded  upon  the  study  of  nature.  Of  all  forms  of  art, 
Vocal  Expression  is  the  nearest  to  nature ;  for  it  is  an  art  in 
which  nature  furnishes  not  only  the  impulse  and  the  idea,  but 
also  the  materials  and  the  agents  of  manifestation.  In  all  natural 
expression,  man  is  impelled  to  speak  as  the  bird  is  to  sing. 

Other  arts  have  more  or  less  of  a  mechanical  nature.  The 
mastery  of  them  is  primarily  dependent  upon  the  control  of 
technical  mechanical  instruments :  the  painter  must  gain  com- 
mand of  his  brush,  the  musician  of  his  instrument,  the  sculptor 


12  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

of  his  chisel.  The  speaker,  however,  has  no  tool  except  his 
own  voice  and  body ;  and  although  for  effective  expression  he 
must  thoroughly  train  and  secure  control  of  these  agents,  still 
they  have  been  more  or  less  under  his  control  ever  since  his  first 
childish  struggle  to  command  them.  Besides,  many  of  the 
actions  of  the  voice  are  involuntary,  if  not  unconscious.  A 
genuine  laugh  is  purely  spontaneous :  the  chief  effort  of  the  will 
is  to  restrain  it.  In  conversation,  we  adapt  the  expression  of 
our  thoughts  and  feelings ;  the  inflections,  the  degrees  of  em- 
phasis, and  the  length  of  pauses,  are  involuntarily,  if  not  uncon- 
sciously, varied  according  to  the  understanding  of  our  hearers. 
Everyone  tells  a  story  to  a  little  child  more  simply  than  to  a 
man.  Anyone  conversing  in  the  midst  of  noise  unconsciously 
increases  his  voice  so  as  to  make  himself  heard.  The  voice  is 
modulated  according  to  the  size  of  the  audience,  the  character 
of  the  hall,  or  the  distance  of  the  hearer. 

Many  elements  of  expression  are  so  deep  and  mystic  that 
they  can  be  awakened  only  by  stimulating  their  cause.  They 
cannot  be  adequately  performed  mechanically,  or  by  a  direct, 
conscious  action  of  the  will.  To  secure  them  in  all  their  pleni- 
tude and  force,  such  an  idea  or  situation  must  be  created  by  the 
mind  as  will  awaken  the  feeling  that  prompts  them. 

Vocal  Expression  is  more  intense  and  more  adequately  mani- 
festive  of  life  than  any  other  art.  It  is  a  subjective  art,  whereas 
the  other  arts  are  objective;  but  though  other  arts  have  an 
objective,  permanent  body,  and  may  live  for  thousands  of  years, 
and  Vocal  Expression  dies  the  moment  it  is  born,  still,  the  tran- 
sitory art  includes  more  life,  and  a  greater  number  of  elements, 
than  the  statue  or  the  painting.  The  subjective  art  makes  up 
in  intensity  what  it  lacks  in  permanence.  The  plenitude  of  the 
momentary  effect,  the  deep  transfusion  and  manifestation  of 
nature's  life,  compensate  for  the  lack  of  permanent  body. 

From  all  this  it  is  clear  that,  in  order  to  improve  expression,  a 
direct  and  sympathetic  observation  of  nature  is  fundamentally 


STUDY   OF   NATURE.  I'd 

necessary.  The  mind  and  the  voice,  the  soul  and  the  body,  the 
fundamental  modes  of  nature's  actions,  —  all  must  be  thoroughly 
understood. 

As  all  art  is  founded  upon  nature,  it  follows  that  certain 
characteristics  of  nature  are  reproduced  in  art.  The  charac- 
teristics of  the  one  must  furnish  the  laws  of  the  other.  To 
improve  expression  it  is  necessary  to  observe  the  spontaneous 
expression  of  nature  herself,  and  to  find  the  elemental  charac- 
teristics. What  are  the  universal  qualities  of  nature  and  art? 
What  are  the  fundamental  elements  which  are  always  found  in 
nature's  processes,  and  are  reproduced  in  all  true  art,  but  which 
are  always  absent  in  poor,  mechanical,  or  artificial  art  ?  Natural- 
ness is  considered  the  highest  characteristic  of  reading  and 
speaking.     What  do  we  mean  by  it?  —  what  are  its  elements? 

First,  nature  is  full  of  life  and  growth.  All  natural  impulses 
are  an  outgrowth,  —  they  are  from  within,  outward.  Expression 
in  nature  is  from  a  mystic  centre  to  a  manifest  surface.  The 
leaves  of  the  tree  express  the  plenitude  of  life  welling  up  from 
the  roots ;  the  rosebud  blooms  from  a  pressure  outward  of  inner 
fullness ;  the  difference  between  an  animal  and  a  machine  con- 
sists in  the  fact  that  in  the  machine  force  is  applied  externally 
to  the  mechanism,  whereas  in  the  animal  there  seems  to  be  a 
centre  of  life  and  impulse,  —  the  animal  acts  from  within,  the 
machine  is  moved  from  without. 

Poor  art  has  the  characteristic  of  the  machine,  —  noble  art 
has  the  qualities  of  nature ;  and  this  is  especially  true  of  speak- 
ing. All  noble,  all  natural  speaking  is  from  within  outward. 
The  central  action  of  the  mind  is  predominant,  and  actions  of 
voice  or  body  are  subordinate ;  "  it  is  the  soul  that  must  speak." 
Again,  not  only  does  nature  act  from  within  outward,  but  the 
action  seems  to  come  from  one  centre.  The  highest  product  of 
physical  nature  is  an  organism.  Unity  is  the  highest  law  of  art ; 
all  parts  must  seem  to  inhere.  Every  word  of  a  poem  must 
seem  to  be  inevitable,  —  it  must  not  seem  to  be  possible  to  add 


14  VOCAL   EXPRESSION". 

another  word,  or  to  change  a  word.  If  one  part  of  a  building 
does  not  seem  to  belong  to  the  whole,  the  work  is  imperfect ; 
every  part  must  seem  to  be  necessary  to  every  other  part.  In 
the  most  mechanical  product  of  art,  as  in  the  most  graceful 
organism  of  nature,  all  parts  must  seem  to  have  a  direct  rela- 
tionship to  one  centre.  Thus  every  true  work  of  art  must 
possess  organic  unity.  The  artist  must  assimilate  the  elemental 
modes  of  nature's  procedure ;  he  must  so  paint  his  picture  or 
carve  his  statue  that  it  shall  seem  to  have  grown.  This  is 
especially  true  of  expression:  it  is  the  process  of  a  living 
organism,  and  any  inconsistency  or  violation  of  organic  unity 
destroys  it  immediately.  Now,  organic  unity  in  Vocal  Expression 
can  be  secured  only  by  awakening  the  right  impulse.  Each 
idea  must  be  so  vividly  and  intensely  realized  as  to  bring  all 
man's  agents  and  languages  into  co-operation. 

Freedom  is  the  opportunity  granted  to  anything  to  accomplish 
the  ends  of  its  being.  Nature  is  free:  there  is  an  impulse  in  a 
rose-bud  to  bloom ;  and  if  left  alone,  under  normal  conditions, 
the  rose  will  unfold.  Everywhere  in  nature  the  impulse  to 
move  manifests  itself  in  great  varieties,  in  surprising  modes  of 
motion,  —  an  impulse  of  force  flows  out  through  the  most  open 
road.  So  it  is  with  speaking.  Not  only  do  we  speak  from 
within  outward,  from  one  central  conception  of  the  mind,  but 
there  is  always  an  element  of  freedom  in  the  modulations  of  the 
voice.  The  subtle  changes  of  pitch,  the  length  of  pauses,  the 
length  and  direction  of  inflection,  cannot  be  made  subservient 
to  mechanical  rules.     To  be  natural  it  is  necessary  to  be  free. 

To  be  free  and  natural,  however,  does  not  mean  to  be  wildly 
impulsive  or  extravagant.  In  nature,  the  toad  never  tries  to 
expand  into  the  ox ;  there  is  no  impulse  in  the  elm  to  change 
itself  into  an  oak.  On  the  contrary,  the  delicate  rose  is  unfolded 
in  a  very  firm  cup,  the  leaves  of  the  palm  are  stitched  together 
most  firmly  to  prevent  the  premature  effusion  of  life.  Freedom 
is  not  license,  even  in  nature ;  but  is  obedience  to  spontaneous 


STUDY   OF   NATURE.  15 

impulses,  harmoniously  co-ordinated.  The  impulse  to  guide  and 
direct,  to  regulate  and  restrain,  is  almost  as  spontaneous  as  the 
impulse  to  unfold:  there  is  ever  a  simultaneous  unfolding  of 
the  two  impulses.  Another  most  important  quality  of  nature, 
therefore,  is  harmony,  or  temperance.  These  elements  not  only 
appear  in  nohle  and  classic  art,  hut  they  are  also  qualities  of 
nature.  We  never  find  an  oak  leaf  upon  a  willow  tree :  nature 
is  always  governed  hy  a  law  of  consistency  or  harmony. 
Accordingly,  nature  always  acts  from  a  centre  spontaneously, 
freely  and  harmoniously  outward ;  and,  to  he  natural,  the  utter- 
ance, the  manifestation  of  thought  and  feeling  through  the  voice 
and  hody,  must  act  in  the  same  way. 

In  the  development  of  expression,  although  the  impulses  of 
the  heart  are  to  he  guided  and  regulated,  yet  the  true  art  of 
speaking  is  not  a  substitute  for  nature :  it  must  ever  be  founded 
upon  nature.  Nature's  impulses  must  he  studied  and  respected. 
There  are  right  tendencies  with  which  there  must  he  no  inter- 
ference, and  which  must  not  be  repressed  by  mechanical  rules 
and  regulations.  In  fact,  the  right  impulses  must  be  awakened 
as  the  very  first  step  in  developing  Vocal  Expression,  or  no 
adequate  progress  can  be   secured. 

The  impulse  and  struggle  to  express  come  to  the  child  with 
the  first  thought  and  feeling.  Expression  as  naturally  follows 
impression  as  expiration  follows  inspiration  in  breathing.  Is 
not  expression,  therefore,  as  near  to  nature  as  we  can  get  ?  Is 
not  expression  dependent  upon  the  most  natural  awakening  of 
the  spontaneous  impulses  of  human  nature?  Does  not  its 
development,  its  power,  depend  primarily  upon  awakening  a 
central  impulse,  upon  giving  it  freedom,  and  a  harmonious 
co-ordination  of  the  complex  impulses  from  all  parts  of  our 
nature  into  unity,  and  into  complete  accord  with  the  elemental 
modes  of  nature's  proceedings  ? 

Expression  implies  cause,  means,  and  effect.  Hence,  the 
only  methods  of  making  expression  possible,  are  by  stimulating 


16  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

the  cause,  developing  and  securing  control  over  the  organic 
means,  or  by  accomplishing  better  effects.  That  is,  to  secure 
right  thinking  and  feeling,  to  train  the  voice  and  the  body  to 
make  them  more  flexible,  responsive,  and  adequate  agents,  and 
to  bring  all  their  actions  into  the  possession  of  the  will ;  or,  by  a 
knowledge  of  the  laws  of  effect  in  nature,  to  secure  a  better 
choice  of  technical  actions  and  modes  of  execution. 

The  greatest  danger  in  the  development  of  expression  is 
artificiality  and  affectation.  To  avoid  these,  the  first  step  should 
be  to  stimulate  and  become  conscious  of  the  nature  and  force 
of  the  true  spontaneous  impulses  of  our  own  minds.  It  is 
necessary  to  distinguish  between  the  spontaneous  power  of 
genuine  life,  and  the  plenitude  of  its  expression  in  every  part  of 
the  body :  its  noble  simplicity  and  ease  on  the  one  hand,  and  on 
the  other  the  mechanical  forcing,  or  mere  volitional  execution 
of  certain  superficial  and  artificial  acts  of  voice  or  body. 

Art  has  been  defined  as  "  play  under  the  influence  of  order." 
The  element  of  art  called  "play"  comes  from  nature;  the 
element  of  order  comes  from  the  deliberative  action  of  the  human 
mind.  Different  arts  possess  these  elements  in  different  degrees. 
In  the  mechanical  arts,  everything  is  made  according  to 
measure ;  there  is  little  if  any  of  the  free  play  of  nature.  The 
force  that  produced  them  acted  like  a  machine,  —  the  "  order  " 
is  an  external  and  a  mechanical  adjustment.  The  Fine  Arts, 
on  the  contrary,  have  more  of  the  free,  spontaneous  play  of 
nature,  but  the  "order"  itself  is  not  external, — it  is  hidden;  it 
is  a  part  of  the  life  and  the  force,  seemingly,  that  produced  the 
art.  The  "order"  itself  is  like  the  order  of  nature.  In  the 
conventional  or  decorative  arts  the  element  of  order  is  more  pro- 
nounced ;  but  in  all  expressive  art  the  regulation  seems  as  hid- 
den, as  much  a  part  of  the  play,  as  the  noble,  easy,  and  graceful 
restraint  of  a  cultivated  and  disciplined  human  being. 

In  any  endeavor  to  improve  or  develop  an  art  like  Vocal 
Expression,  the   question   arises,  shall   we  begin  by  securing 


STUDY    OP    NATURE.  17 

order,  by  developing  the  deliberative  and  conscious  element,  or 
shall  we  endeavor  to  stimulate  the  spontaneous  play  of  nature  ? 
Shall  we  begin  with  the  effect,  in  other  words,  or  with  the 
cause  ?  Is  not  beginning  with  the  effect,  the  method  which  is 
so  common,  the  cause  of  the  affectation  and  artificiality  which 
so  frequently  accompany  such  instruction? 

In  beginning  the  study  of  music  or  painting,  or  any  art  which 
requires  the  use  of  a  mechanical  tool,  it  may  be  necessary  to 
proceed  according  to  Goethe's  principle,  —  "  all  art  is  preceded 
by  a  certain  mechanical  expertness."  In  an  art  like  Vocal 
Expression,  however,  we  must  remember  that  there  is  a  tendency 
in  the  very  impulse  itself  to  dictate  its  own  proper  expression. 
It  is  nearer  to  nature,  its  very  organism  is  a  part  of  nature; 
its  tool  is  an  agent,  —  not  an  external  or  mechanical  instrument, 
but  a  part  of  the  same  being  in  which  the  thought,  the  emotion, 
the  impulse  itself  awakens.  Hence,  in  developing  Vocal 
Expression,  it  is  well  to  remember  the  old  adage,  "  We  cannot 
learn  to  swim  without  going  into  the  water."  But,  in  the 
development  of  other  forms  of  art,  there  would  be  less  artificial 
and  mechanical  results  if  there  was  an  endeavor  to  awaken  the 
artistic  nature,  —  to  stimulate  the  artistic  impulse,  as  well  as  to 
develop  skill  in  execution. 

Natural  expression  is  simply  the  overflow  of  emotion,  and  as 
all  art  is  founded  upon  nature,  and  as  there  must  be  material 
before  that  material  can  be  regulated,  and  impulse  before  that 
impulse  can  be  guided,  a  cause  before  the  effect,  the  first  aim 
should  be  to  stimulate  and  to  observe  the  impulse  to  speak. 


Problem  I.  To  develop  Vocal  Expression,  therefore,  become 
conscious  of  the  impulse  to  express.  Meditate  upon  some  beautiful 
poem  or  passage  of  good  literature,  until  something  of  the  feeling 
'  that  dominated  the  heart  of  the  author  is  awakened,  —  then  simply 
give  it  voice  and  become  conscious  of  the  spontaneous  tendency 
of  noble  thought  and  feeling  to  dominate  voice  and  body. 
2 


18  VOCAL    EXPRESSION. 

3    Sometimes  on  lonely  mountain-meres,  I  find  a  magic  bark; 
I  leap  on  board:  no  belmsman  steers :  I  float  till  all  is  dark. 
A  gentle  sound,  an  awful  ligbt !  tbree  angels  bear  the  Holy  Grail : 
With  folded  feet,  in  stoles  of  white,  on  sleeping  wings  they  sail. 
Ah,  blessed  vision !  blood  of  God !  my  spirit  beats  her  mortal  bars, 
As  down  dark  tides  the  glory  slides,  and  star-like  mingles  with  the  stars. 
The  clouds  are  broken  in  the  sky,  and  thro'  the  mountain  walls 
A  rolling  organ  harmony  swells  up,  and  shakes  and  falls. 
Then  move  the  trees,  the  copses  nod,  wings  flutter,  voices  hover  clear: 
"  O  just  and  faithful  knight  of  God!  ride  on!  the  prize  is  near." 
So  pass  I  hostel,  hall,  and  grange;  by  bridge  and  ford,  by  park  and  pale. 
All-arm' d  I  ride,  whate'er  betide,  until  I  find  the  Holy  Grail. 
"  Sir  Galahad."  Tennyson. 

II.    SEQUENCE  OF  IDEAS. 

4    Uprose  the  merry  Sphinx,  and  crouched  no  more  in  stone ; 

She  melted  into  purple  cloud,  she  silvered  in  the  moon. 

She  spired  into  a  yellow  flame,  she  flowered  in  blossoms  red; 

She  flowed  into  a  foaming  wave,  she  stood  Monadnoc's  head. 

Emerson. 

THE  study  of  nature  shows  that  to  develop  expression, 
actions  must  be  traced  to  their  elements,  and  faults  to  their 
causes;  and  that  work  must  begin  there.  The  fundamental 
element  in  expression  is  thinking ;  all  expression  is  primarily  an 
effort  to  reveal  thought. 

What  are  the  primary  elements  of  thinking  ?  If  we  endeavor 
to  recall  the  events  of  a  day,  or  the  objects  we  have  seen  in  a 
walk,  we  find  that  the  mind  proceeds  from  idea  to  idea,  by  a 
series  of  pulsations.  We  rest  a  moment  upon  one  thing,  then 
leap  to  another,  according  to  the  law  of  association  of  ideas. 
This  action  of  the  mind  is  well  illustrated  by  Coleridge: 
"  Most  of  my  readers  will  have  observed  a  small  water  insect  on 
the  surface  of  rivulets,  which  throws  a  cinque- spotted  shadow, 
fringed  with  prismatic  colors,  on  the  sunny  bottom  of  the 
brook ;  and  will  have  noticed  how  the  little  animal  wins  its  way 
up  against  the  stream,  by  alternate  pulses  of  active  and  passive 
motion,— now  resisting  the  current,  and  now  yielding  to  it,  in 


SEQUENCE    OF   IDEAS.  19 

order  to  gather  strength  and  a  momentary  fulcrum  for  a  further 
propulsion.  This  is  no  unapt  emhlem  of  the  mind's  self- 
experience  in  the  act  of  thinking." 

Professor  James  has  shown  that  even  in  holding  the  attention 
of  the  mind  upon  the  simplest  object,  there  is  this  rhythmic 
pulsation.  It  is  impossible  to  maintain  continuity  of  attention 
without  it :  if  we  hold  our  attention  upon  an  apple,  for  example, 
we  observe  first  one  thing,  such  as  its  color,  and  then  another, 
—  its  size,  shape,  or  perhaps  its  variety.  So  well  attested  is 
this  experience,  that  it  may  be  regarded  as  the  most  fundamental 
action  of  the  mind  in  thinking. 

These  characteristics  of  the  act  of  thinking  will  be  seen  by 
observing  the  difference  between  musing  and  thinking.  In 
musing,  the  mind  drifts  from  idea  to  idea,  independent  of  the 
will.  There  is  little  concentration  or  direction  of  the  mind :  it 
moves  passively  from  idea  to  idea.  In  thinking,  however,  there 
is  an  accentuation  of  successive  pulsations.  The  mind  con- 
centrates its  attention  upon  one  idea,  placing  this  in  the  fore- 
ground, and  placing  others  in  the  background;  then  chooses 
another  idea  from  the  many  possible  associations,  and  directs 
attention  to  that.  The  prolonging  of  the  concentration  of  the 
mind  uj}on  an  idea  is  called  "  attention." 

If  we  read  a  simple  poem  or  story  to  ourselves,  the  mind 
forms  one  image,  then  another,  so  that  there  is  a  series  of  ideas. 
These  ideas  are  clear,  distinct,  and  adequate,  and  awaken  the 
impulses  of  the  soul  in  proportion  to  the  degree  of  concentration, 
length  of  attention,  upon  each  idea  in  succession.  The  appre- 
hension or  realization  of  the  thought  of  the  poem  is  entirely 
dependent  upon  the  progressive  transition  of  the  mind. 

The  question  now  arises,  what  is  the  difference  between  the 
act  of  thinking  alone  for  ourselves,  and  the  act  of  thinking  when 
•we  are  endeavoring  to  convey  our  thought  to  others'?  One 
difference  is,  that  when  we  are  thinking  for  ourselves,  the  mind 
glides  quickly  from  image  to  image  ;  but  when  we  are  thinking 


20  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

for  others,  there  must  be  pauses,  and  greater  intensity  and 
vividness  of  each  conception.  An  idea  must  not  only  be  under- 
stood, but  must  also  be  vividly  felt  in  order  to  be  told  so  as  to 
arouse  interest  in  others.  Expression  does  not  call  for  a  change 
in  the  actions  of  the  mind,  but  simply  for  accentuation. 
Thinking  for  expression  is  the  same  as  thinking  at  our  desk, 
except  that  each  leap  of  the  mind  is  more  accentuated,  and  each 
act  of  attention  more  prolonged ;  this  tends  to  awaken  the 
impulses,  and  to  enable  the  mind  to  perform  the  additional  act 
of  suggesting  it  in  words.  The  mind  must  conceive  the  ideas 
more  vividly,  and  this  vivid  image  is  secured  by  giving  pre- 
paratory attention  to  each  thought.  The  less  familiar  the 
subject,  the  larger  the  audience,  the  more  important  the  ideas, 
the  longer  will  the  mind  be  stayed  upon  the  successive  ideas, 
and  the  more  regularly  will  it  make  these  leaps. 

We  find  this  same  difference  between  reading  an  extract  for 
ourselves,  and  trying  to  read  it  to  others.  In  reading  to  our- 
selves, the  apprehension  of  the  words  is  first,  and  then  that  of 
the  thought ;  in  reading  to  others,  we  grasp  each  phrase,  and  its 
underlying  idea,  before  giving  it  expression.  Reading  to 
others,  unless  it  is  a  mere  calling  of  words,  is  much  slower ;  for 
the  pulsations  of  the  mind  are  more  pronounced.  We  always 
desire  to  read  an  extract  to  ourselves  before  reading  it  aloud,  in 
order  to  become  familiar  with  the  steps  which  the  mind  must 
take  in  reproducing  the  thought,  to  convey  it  to  another. 

These  two  elements  of  thinking,  attention  and  transition,  — 
staying  the  mind  upon  one  idea,  and  then  leaj)ing  to  another,  — 
must  both  be  accentuated  in  reading  or  speaking ;  but  the  first 
of  these  is  the  more  apt  to  be  slighted.  The  mind  is  apt  to 
skim  along,  as  in  musing,  without  definite  concentration.  More 
faults  of  reading  and  speaking  are  due  to  uttering  the  words 
without  first  conceiving  the  idea,  than  to  any  other  cause.  The 
mind  often  merely  takes  the  words,  and  completely  identifies 
the  ideas  with  these  arbitrary  signs.     To  such  an  extent  is  this 


SEQUENCE    OF   IDEAS.  21 

sometimes  carried  that  thinking  is  destroyed.  The  mere  pro- 
nouncing of  words  is  not  expression.  Words  must  be  given ; 
but  words  alone,  or  mere  talk  for  talk's  sake,  are  the  emptiest 
of  all  things.  A  mere  continuity  of  words  in  utterance  is,  in 
fact,  the  most  effective  way  to  destroy  thinking.  Whenever 
there  is  a  mere  continuous  stream  of  words,  there  cannot  be  a 
continuity  of  thought.  The  more  intensely  a  man  is  thinking, 
the  more  closely  are  the  words  united  into  groups,  and  the  more 
clearly  are  the  pulsations  of  the  mind  revealed.  When  there  is 
mere  continuity  of  words,  the  mind  is  simply  skimming  and 
drifting,  but  not  thinking ;  the  definite  attention,  the  strong 
pulsations,  the  progressive  transitions,  are  all  absent. 

These  actions,  however,  are  dependent  upon  each  other ;  for 
it  is  found  that  the  more  vividly  one  idea  is  taken,  the  more 
definitely  will  the  mind  advance  to  another  idea.  The  most 
important  step  in  reading  is  the  grasjnng  of  the  first  idea.  The 
idlest  mind,  when  once  started,  will  think :  attention  is  easily 
applied  where  interest  is  awakened.  The  grasping  by  the  niind 
of  the  first  idea, — the  fingering  over  it,  —  awakens  interest, 
brings  the  powers  of  the  mind  into  play,  and  stimulates  another 
idea.  If  there  is  a  vagueness  and  confusion  at  first,  it  is 
difficult  for  the  mind  afterwards  to  overcome  such  drifting  over 
indefinite  images.  When  the  association  of  ideas  is  once 
established,  continuity  of  thought  is  the  result. 

Here,  then,  are  the  fundamental  requisites  of  reading  and 
speaking,  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  nature  and  the  human 
mind :  impression  must  precede  expression ;  the  act  of  thinking 
must  be  accentuated ;  there  must  be  developed  the  power  to 
pause  and  hold  the  mind  upon  one  idea,  until  a  conception 
arises  so  vivid  as  to  create  a  response.  True  expression  is 
primarily  based  upon  this  mental  action. 

The  first  step  that  is  required  for  the  improvement  of 
expression  in  accordance  with  these  facts,  is  to  take  some 
simple  extract,  penetrating  through  the  words  to  the  successive 


22  VOCAL    EXPRESSION. 

ideas,  and  holding  the  mind  upon  one.  When  this  has  heen 
given,  then  grasp  another.  The  mind  must  take  before  it  can 
give ;  thought  and  feeling  must  determine  expression.  Ex- 
pression must  he  simply  transparent  thinking.  To  improve 
expression,  therefore,  thinking  must  be  made  stronger.  No 
superficial  rules,  no  aggregation  of  artificial  tricks,  can  ever 
furnish  substitutes  for  the  living  act  of  thought.  The  mind 
must  step  firmly  from  idea  to  idea,  and  lead  another  mind 
along  its  own  road.  Though  images  may  be  different  in 
different  minds,  this  progression  of  thinking  is  similar  in  all 
men.  The  fact  that  all  minds  think  according  to  the  same  law, 
makes  human  language  possible ;  and  the  accentuation  of  the 
rhythmic  element  of  thinking  makes  expression   effective. 

In  reading  extracts  aloud,  the  aim  at  first  must  be  not  so 
much  to  read  in  a  given  way,  as  to  think  and  enjoy,  and  to  find 
the  normal  actions  of  the  mind.  Live  in  the  enjoyment  of  one 
complete  idea  at  a  time,  then  give  it,  and  so  on,  idea  after  idea. 
Let  us  take,  as  an  example,  an  extract  from  Wordsworth,  read 
it  slowly  to  ourselves  first,  and  watch  what  our  minds  do. 


5  In  youth,  from  rock  to  rock  I  went,  from  hill  to  hill  in  discontent, 
of  pleasure  high  and  turbulent,  most  pleased  when  most  uneasy;  but 
now  my  own  delights  I  make,  my  thirst  at  every  rill  can  slake,  and 
gladly  Nature's  love  partake,  of  thee,  sweet  Daisy. 

Thee,  Winter  in  the  garland  wears  that  thinly  decks  his  few  gray  hairs; 
Spring  parts  the  clouds  with  softest  airs,  that  she  may  sun  thee;  whole 
Summer-fields  are  thine  by  right;  and  Autumn,  melancholy  Wight !  doth 
in  thy  crimson  head  delight  when  rains  are  on  thee.  In  shoals  and 
bands,  a  morrice  train,  thou  greet' st  the  traveller  in  the  lane;  pleased  at 
his  greeting  thee  again;  yet,  nothing  daunted,  nor  grieved  if  thou  be  set 
at  naught,  and  oft  alone  in  nooks  remote  we  meet  thee,  like  a  pleasant 
thought,  when  such  are  wanted. 

Be  violets  in  their  secret  mews  the  flowers  the  wanton  Zephyrs  choose ; 

proud  be  the  rose,  with  rains  and  dews  her  head  impearling!  thou  liv'st 

with  less  ambitious  aim,  yet  hast  not  gone  without  thy  fame;  thou  art 

indeed,  by  many  a  claim,  the  Poet's  darling. 

Wordsworth. 


SEQUENCE    OF   IDEAS.  23 

If  we  read  this  extract  to  another,  we  do  not  merely  pro- 
nounce the  words,  putting  before  our  minds  a  quantity  of  rules 
and  modes  of  execution ;  on  the  contrary,  we  create  every  scene 
and  idea,  and  go  through  an  experience  similar  to  that  of 
"Wordsworth.  In  reading  such  an  extract,  the  mind  naturally 
lives  in  each  successive  idea,  gives  it  for  its  own  sake,  with  only 
subordinate  attention  to  what  is  passed,  or  what  is  to  come. 
We  feel  primarily  the  force  of  a  specific  idea ;  the  idea,  however, 
being  a  part  of  a  thought  with  relation  to  the  other  ideas. 

6  We  wander' d  to  the  Pine  Forest  that  skirts  the  Ocean's  foam; 

The  lightest  wind  was  in  its  nest,  the  tempest  in  its  home. 

The  whispering  waves  were  half  asleep,  the  clouds  were  gone  to  play, 

And  on  the  bosom  of  the  deep  the  smile  of  Heaven  lay; 

It  seem'd  as  if  the  hour  were  one  sent  from  beyond  the  skies 

Which  scatter'd  from  above  the  sun  a  light  of  Paradise! 

We  paused  amid  the  pines  that  stood  the  giants  of  the  waste, 

Tortured  by  storms  to  shapes  as  rude  as  serpents  interlaced, — 

And  soothed  by  every  azure  breath  that  under  heaven  is  blown 

To  harmonies  and  hues  beneath,  as  tender  as  its  own: 

Now  all  the  tree-tops  lay  asleep,  like  green  waves  on  the  sea, 

As  still  as  in  the  silent  deep  the  ocean-woods  may  be. 

We  paused  beside  the  pools  that  lie  under  the  forest  bough ; 

Each  seem'd  as  'twere  a  little  sky,  gulf'd  in  a  world  below; 

A  firmament  of  purple  light,  which  in  the  dark  earth  lay, 

More  boundless  than  the  depth  of  night,  and  purer  than  the  day  — 

In  which  the  lovely  forests  grew  as  in  the  upper  air, 

More  perfect  both  in  shape  and  hue  than  any  spreading  there. 

There  lay  the  glade  and  neighboring  lawn,  and  through  the  dark 

green  wood 

The  white  sun  twinkling  like  the  dawn  out  of  speckled  cloud, 

Sweet  views  which  in  our  world  above  can  never  well  be  seen, 

Were  imaged  by  the  water's  love  of  that  fair  forest  green: 

And  all  was  interfused  beneath  with  an  Elysian  glow, 

An  atmosphere  without  a  breath,  a  softer  day  below. 

Shelley. 


For  another  illustration,  take  the  above  extract  from  Shelley. 

The  mind  first  creates  and  rests  upon  the  '  pine  forest ; '  — 

next '  the  wind ; '  then  the  '  tempest.'     Here  is  something  more 


24  VOCAL   EXPEESSION. 

complex  :  the  wind  is  shown  to  be  in  a  certain  condition  by  the 
use  of  the  word  which  brings  up  a  subtle  comparison,  and  hints 
at  an  idea  by  imagery.  This  also  applies  to  the  tempest,  the 
waves  and  the  clouds ;  but,  through  them  all,  we  find  the  mind 
stopping  a  moment  in  the  enjoyment  of  one  picture  or  concep- 
tion, and  then  leaping  to  another.  We  find  also  that  where 
there  is  not  this  staying  of  the  mind,  there  is  little  enjoyment  on 
the  part  of  the  reader  or  hearer. 

Problem  II.  Read  a  short  selection  with  a  simple  sequence  of 
ideas,  study  the  action  of  the  mind  and  then  read  it  aloud  and 
accent  the  pulsations  of  the  mind. 

Another  helpful  exercise  is  to  tell  a  story.  Concentrate  the 
mind  definitely  upon  each  idea,  each  picture  in  the  mind,  and 
then  step  decidedly  to  the  next  one.  Take  some  Folk-lore  tale, 
a  narrative  poem,  such  as  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  or  a  play  of 
Shakespeare's,  and  give  the  argument  in  a  few  words.  Children 
like  stories,  because  the  sequence  of  ideas  is  so  simple  that  their 
minds  proceed  from  picture  to  picture  without  difficulty.  Narra- 
tive and  descriptive  poems  are  the  most  popular  for  the  same 
reason :  each  image  is  the  result  of  easy  or  spontaneous  asso- 
ciation. The  more  profound  an  extract,  the  more  subtle  the 
attention  which  is  required  to  secure  adequate  conceptions. 
Such  poems  are  not  enjoyed  until  the  faculties  that  conceive 
such  pictures  are  awakened  and  trained. 

There  are  few  good  story-tellers.  The  ideas  are  allowed  to 
drag,  or  are  given  confusedly,  each  successive  one  not  being 
sufficiently  vivid,  or  the  order  of  ideas  being  imperfect.  Much 
depends  upon  the  preparation.  All  that  is  usually  needed  is  to 
arrange  the  sj^ecial  points  in  proper  order ;  and  then,  in  giving 
the  story,  simply  to  five  in  each  idea,  and  move  regularly  from 
one  to  another.  This  practice  will  do  much  to  enable  the 
student  to  use  the  mind  normally  in  the  presence  of  others. 
"  To  think  upon  the  feet "  is  a  fundamental  requisite,  not  only 
of  expression,  but  of  all  success  in  life. 


SEQUENCE    OP   IDEAS.  25 

Problem  III.     Carefully  arrange  the  points  of  a  story,  and  give 
them  as  simply  and  progressively  as  possible. 


7    Across  a  thousand  leagues  of  land  the  mighty  sun  looks  free, 
And  in  their  fringe  of  rock  or  sand  a  thousand  leagues  of  sea. 
Lo !  I,  in  this  majestic  room,  as  real  as  the  sun, 
Inherit  this  day  and  its  doom  eternally  begun. 
A  world  of  men  the  rays  illume,  God's  men,  and  I  am  one. 
But  life  that  is  not  pure  and  bold  doth  tarnish  every  morning's  gold. 

Allingham. 

8.    WHEBE  GO  THE  BOATS? 
Dark  brown  is  the  river,  golden  is  the  sand. 
It  flows  along  forever,  with  trees  on  either  hand. 
Green  leaves  a-floating,  castles  of  the  foam, 
Boats  of  mine  a-boating,  — where  will  all  come  home? 
On  goes  the  river  and  out  past  the  mill, 
Away  down  the  valley,  away  down  the  hill. 
Away  down  the  river,  a  hundred  miles  or  more, 
Other  little  children  shall  bring  my  boats  ashore. 

JR.  L.  Stevenson. 

9.    THE  EDUCATION  OF  NATURE. 

Three  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower ;  then  Nature  said,  "  A  lovelier 
flower  on  earth  was  never  sown:  this  child  I  to  myself  will  take;  she 
shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make  a  lady  of  my  own.  Myself  will  to  my 
darling  be  both  law  and  impulse:  and  with  me  the  girl,  in  rock  and 
plain,  in  earth  and  heaven,  in  glade  and  bower,  shall  feel  an  overseeing 
power  to  kindle  or  restrain.  She  shall  be  sportive  as  the  fawn  that,  wild 
with  glee,  across  the  lawn  or  up  the  mountain  springs;  and  her's  shall  be 
the  breathing  balm,  and  her  s  the  silence  and  the  calm  of  mute  insensate 
things.  The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall  lend  to  her ;  for  her  the  willow 
bend,  nor  shall  she  fail  to  see,  e'en  in  the  motions  of  the  storm,  grace  that 
shall  mould  the  maiden's  form  by  silent  sympathy.  The  stars  of  midnight 
shall  be  dear  to  her ;  and  she  shall  lean  her  ear  in  many  a  secret  place  where 
rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round,  and  beauty,  born  of  murmuring 
sound,  shall  pass  into  her  face.  And  vital  feelings  of  delight  shall  rear 
her  form  to  stately  height,  her  virgin  bosom  swell;  such  thoughts  to 
Lucy  I  wili  give  while  she  and  I  together  live,  here  in  this  happy  dell." 

Thus  Nature  spake.     The  work  was  done:  how  soon  my  Lucy's  race 

was  run !    She  died,  and  left  to  me  this  heath,  this  calm  and  quiet  scene ; 

the  memory  of  what  has  been,  and  never  more  will  be. 

Wordsworth. 


26  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Full,  fresh  and  fair  thy  wreath  to-day,  old  Newark's  ivied  tower; 
Still  blooms  the  leaf  and  buds  the  spray  in  Yarrow's  birchen  bower*, 
To  many  a  breeze  your  sylvan  song  makes  music,  Linden  beeches, 
Full  many  a  streamlet  trills  along,  bright  Tweed,  thy  pebbly  reaches. 
"The  Rose  of  Ettrick."  Hznry  Cholmondeley-Pennell. 


III.    CONCEPTION. 


10    The  sporting  whitethroat,  on  some  twig's  end  borne, 
Poured  hymns  to  freedom  and  the  noisy  morn. 


Bloomfield. 


11    The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 
Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves, 
And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 
With  the  deluge  of  summer  it  receives. 


Lowell. 


|~N  reading  the  foregoing  extract,  and  observing  carefully  the 
-*-  process  of  thinking,  we  find  not  only  that  the  mind  leaps 
successively  from  one  idea  to  another,  but  also  that  the  idea  upon 
which  the  mind  is  concentrated  becomes  a  conception,  vividly 
and  intensely  realized  according  to  the  degree  of  attention. 

If  we  examine  the  formation  of  a  mental  conception,  we  find 
that  although  a  small  part  of  the  image  may  come  to  the  mind 
through  sense-perception,  by  far  the  largest  portion  comes  from 
the  mind  itself.  The  small  stimulus,  or  idea,  which  comes 
through  the  senses,  is  called  "  perception."  The  portion  which 
comes  from  the  mind  itself,  has  been  named  "apperception." 
For  example,  we  hear  a  rumble  in  the  streets,  and  the  picture 
of  an  electric  car  rises  in  our  minds.  We  do  not  see  the  car, 
we  hear  only  a  low  rumble ;  but  we  have  before  associated  this 
noise  with  a  great  number  of  ideas  of  the  car,  such  as  the  size, 
shape,  structure,  function,  and  relation  of  the  various  parts,  — 
the  form,  color,  motion,  and  uses  of  the  whole.  When  any  one 
of  these  ideas  is  brought  to  the  mind  by  any  mode  whatever, 
there  is  a  tendency  for  all  to  unite  and  form  a  complete  picture, 
according  to  the  law  of  association  of  ideas.     The  same  is  true 


CONCEPTION.  27 

of  all  sense  perception :  the  eye  sees  but  little,  —  the  mind 
supplies  most  of  the  picture.  The  same  is  true  in  thinking: 
consciousness  seems  to  correspond  with  the  action  of  the  senses 
in  observation. 

All  forms  of  expression  are  merely  suggestions,  and  words  are 
only  symbols  of  ideas.  If  a  word  has  previously  been  associated 
in  the  mind  with  a  certain  conception,  it  will  at  once  evoke  that 
conception  when  seen  or  heard ;  but  if  we  have  no  such  associ- 
ation, the  word  conveys  no  meaning.  A  familiar  word  becomes 
so  united  to  the  image  it  stands  for  that  we  are  often  unconscious 
of  the  effect  it  produces  upon  us  in  awakening  the  idea. 

From  this  we  can  see  the  province  of  Vocal  Expression : 
words  may  be  spoken  with  such  modulation  of  the  inflections  — 
pitches  or  tone  color  of  the  voice — that  not  only  the  idea  but 
its  relations,  the  emotions  it  awakens,  the  experience  of  the 
human  soul  that  conceived  it,  can  be  intimated.  Apperceptions 
are  awakened  in  the  hearer  which  cause  not  only  an  image  but 
a  conception  of  the  whole  situation.  Written  words  at  best  can 
suggest  only  the  abstract  conception.  True  delivery  of  these 
words  stimulates  a  greater  number  of  apperceptions,  and  more 
subtle  associations. 

Some  modern  thinkers,  after  investigating  how  conceptions 
are  formed,  find  that  there  are  some  minds  that  act  more  freely 
when  the  stimulus  comes  to  them  through  the  eye ;  others  are 
more  responsive  to  the  sensations  coming  through  the  ear; 
others  are  more  sensitive  to  the  touch ;  and  still  others  seem  to 
be  more  responsive  to  the  sense  of  motion,  or  muscular  resist- 
ance, —  or  rather,  the  mind  seems  always  to  act  in  correspond- 
ence with  some  one  sense.  Accordingly,  thinkers  are  divided 
into  four  classes,  —  "  visuals,  audiles,  tactuals,  and  motiles." 

After  investigating  many  cases,  these  classes,  however,  are, 

>  in  my  judgment,  abnormal.     A  person  who  uses  one  mode  of 

conceiving  ideas  to  the  exclusion  of  the  others,  has  in  some  way 

perverted  the  action  of  his  mind ;  there  has  been  some  marked 


28  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

one-sidedness  in  his  education  or  occupation.  In  normal  mental 
action  these  various  modes  are  found  in  harmonious  co-oper- 
ation ;  a  lack  of  any  one  of  them  is  a  great  imperfection.  As 
physical  blindness  or  deafness  is  a  misfortune,  so  is  mental 
blindness  or  mental  deafness. 

For  the  development  of  Vocal  Expression,  the  harmonious 
co-operation  of  all  the  perceptive  powers  is  necessary ;  its  beauty 
and  power  depend  upon  the  living  imaginative  images  which 
rise  in  the  mind.  The  more  vivid  and  adequate  the  conception 
of  the  speaker,  the  greater  the  emotion,  and  the  more  intense 
the  feeling,  the  more  real  are  the  ideas,  the  quicker  and  stronger 
the  response  in  the  modulation  of  the  voice  and  the  flash  of  the 
eye.  The  number  of  significant  modulations  in  voice,  face  and 
body,  is  in  proportion  to  the  vividness  of  the  conception  which 
the  speaker  is  striving  to  convey.  The  same  principle  under- 
lies all  true  artistic  power.  Orators,  actors,  painters,  poets,  or 
novelists,  are  great  in  proportion  to  then-  power  to  realize  truth. 
Eloquence  is  due  to  the  soul's  response  to  the  conception  of  the 
mind.  It  is  said  that  Dickens  could  see  a  scene  in  his  mind 
as  vividly  as  he  could  see  the  objects  of  nature  with  his  eye. 
In  Shakespeare,  Homer,  Dante,  Milton,  and  the  few  greatest 
authors,  we  find  these  qualities  still  more  marked ;  their  pictures 
are  as  simple  and  strong  as  nature's  own.  Style  is  but  the  re- 
sult of  an  effort  to  paint  the  picture  in  words,  and  the  greatest 
struggle  of  style  is  to  find  the  one  word  or  phrase  which  will 
suggest  the  image  to  another  mind. 

In  reading,  a  vague,  indefinite,  wavering  image  cannot  stim- 
ulate right  modulation  of  the  voice,  nor  can  it  call  forth  the 
right  word.  Every  phrase,  or  even  word,  of  a  great  poem  seems 
to  be  connected  vitally  with  the  idea  from  which  it  has  grown, 
and  from  which  it  can  never  be  separated. 

This  power  of  the  mind  to  create  vivid  ideas  and  conceptiong 
can  be  greatly  increased  by  cultivation.  It  can  be  improved  by 
storing  the  mind  with  a  wide  range  of  apperceptions,  by  a  study 


CONCEPTION.  29 

of  art  and  nature,  and  also  by  stimulating  and  exercising  the 
faculties  concerned  in  realizing  truth.  One  of  the  chief  advan- 
tages of  Vocal  Expression  in  education  is  that  it  causes  the 
most  direct  action  of  the  mind,  and  most  clearly  shows  the  ade- 
quacy or  imperfection  of  the  process  of  a  given  mind.  Hence, 
Vocal  Expression  is  a  most  important  means  of  educating  the 
creative  and  artistic  powers  of  the  man.  Professor  2>J"orton,  of 
Harvard,  has  long  advised  students  to  develop  their  artistic  na- 
tures by  memorizing  and  reciting  simple  lyrics,  like  those  of 
Wordsworth.  Many  a  student  who  has  enjoyed  the  lectures 
of  this  great  teacher  can  testify  to  the  good  result  of  such  an 
exercise. 

At  the  very  beginning  of  such  practice,  it  is  well  to  remember 
that  there  are  many  dangers.  A  picture  of  the  mind  cannot  be 
mechanically  created :  it  must  be  a  spontaneous  result  of  the 
imagination.  Even  its  degree  of  vividness  cannot  be  determined 
by  rule.  If  too  much  attention  is  given  by  the  student  to  the 
details  of  his  images,  the  picture  will  be  mechanical  and  arti- 
ficial. The  laws  of  association  of  ideas,  the  process  of  forming 
mental  images,  cannot  be  consciously  determined,  or  directed 
by  will,  without  weakening  their  power.  Moreover,  no  image 
can  be  copied  from  one  mind  by  another ;  each  soul's  concep- 
tions must  be  its  own.  Great  art  can  only  approximately 
express  the  conception  in  the  mind  of  the  artist ;  and  the  great- 
ness of  art  consists  chiefly  in  its  power  to  awaken  the  appercep- 
tions of  the  observer,  rather  than  in  portraying  the  details  of 
the  image  in  the  mind  of  the  producer. 

There  must  not  be  too  much  effort  to  "make"  mental 
pictures,  —  to  "see"  everything.  The  minds  of  some  "hear" 
and  "touch,"  so  to  speak,  more  readily  than  they  "see." 
*{ Beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound"  stirs  more  hearts  than  we 
know.  The  process  must  be  left  free  in  every  mind.  All  that 
is  needed  is  the  intense  realization  of  ideas  and  truth.  In 
training  for  Vocal  Expression,  therefore,  there  must  ever  be  a 


30  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

trust  in  instinct,  a  reverent  observation  of  spontaneous  impulses, 
and  an  obedience  to  "  the  unconscious  reason."  No  mind  must 
cramp  itself  to  "  pictures,"  or  to  another's  method  of  realizing 
ideas.  To  illustrate  this,  let  us  take  the  opening  lines  of  Tenny- 
son's "  Bugle  Song  ": 

12    The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls, 
And  snowy  summits,  old  in  story  ; 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 


Here  the  poet,  himself,  only  intimates  indefinitely  what 
pictures  shall  rise  in  the  mind  of  the  reader.  '  The  splendor 
falls  on  castle  walls,'  —  what  castle  do  we  see?  Tennyson 
may  have  had  a  specific  castle  in  his  mind ;  but  he,  like  a  true 
poet,  leaves  it  undetermined.  Had  he  named  a  particular  castle, 
he  would  have  appealed  to  memory,  —  not  to  the  imagination. 
He  would  have  been  giving  a  history  of  his  personal  obser- 
vations, and  not  suggesting  an  idea  to  awaken  universal 
experience.  History  records  facts ;  but  art  and  poetry  seek  to 
awaken  the  apperceptive,  the  creative  faculties  of  man,  —  they 
appeal  to  "  the  universal  element  in  human  life."  Our  castle, 
therefore,  must  be  built  by  ourselves.  Then  again,  what  is  the 
'  splendor '  ?  It  may  be  sunset,  sunrise  or  moonlight,  —  this  also 
is  left  undetermined ;  but  it  does  not  remain  vague  in  the  mind. 
When  one  feels  prepared  to  read  it,  the  conception  has  become 
more  or  less  definite  and  vivid. 

It  is  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  poetry,  that  sometimes  a 
general  term  is  so  given  as  to  awaken  a  specific  picture,  or  ai 
least  a  specific  experience;  whereas,  at  other  times,  a  specific 
term  is  so  given  as  to  create  a  general  conception,  or  a  universal 
experience.  If  we  take  the  next  line,  "And  snowy  summits 
old  in  story,"  at  once,  if  in  a  geographical  frame  of  mind,  we 
ask  what  particular  summits?  The  one  hundred  and  twenty 
seen  from  the  Righi?  How  high?  What  direction?  How 
many?  —  and  the  like.     All  this  is  left  to  the  free,  spontaneous 


CONCEPTION".  31 

working  of  the  mind:  the  reader  must  create  his  own  peaks. 
Even  if  he  endeavors  deliberatively  to  remember  specific  peaks 
he  has  seen  somewhere,  his  image  is  apt  to  become  artificial, 
and  fails  to  thrill  his  own  mind,  or  awaken  the  feeling  of  his 
hearers. 

Take  the  third  line,  "  The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes ; " 
—  what  lakes?  What  light?  that  of  the  moon?  sunrise  or 
sunset?  Here,  again,  the  imagination  must  create  its  own 
image,  its  own  idea.  There  must  not  be  too  much  strain  for  a 
given  effect,  or  the  atmosphere  of  loveliness  will  be  lost,  and 
the  passage  will  be  read  in  a  cold,  mechanical  tone.  All  the 
tenderness  of  feeling  being  repressed  and  unawakened,  there 
can  be  no  response  in  the  color  of  the  voice. 

In  the  fourth  line,  "  And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory," 
the  mind  must  be  trusted,  and  not  dominated.  If  the  creative 
faculties  produce  an  ideal  cataract,  so  much  the  better.  Such  a 
picture  will  not  only  stimulate  deeper  emotion  in  the  reader's 
breast ;  but  he  will  be  more  apt  to  awaken  the  creative  power  in 
the  hearts  of  his  hearers. 

The  process  of  realization  must  be  free.  It  does  not  matter, 
for  example,  whether  the  mind  seems  to  see  the  cataract,  or  to 
hear  its  roar,  or  to  feel  its  mist  tipon  the  face,  —  or  all  these  at 
once.  What  is  needed  is  that  the  mind  shall  act,  and  act 
spontaneously,  in  such  a  way  that  the  idea  becomes  realized. 
Conceptions  must  be  awakened  in  our  minds ;  the  whole  nature 
must  be  made  attentive :  the  imagination  and  the  feeling  in  the 
heart  must  be  stimulated ;  for  this  is  the  aim  of  the  poem.  To 
try  to  draw  our  picture  exactly  like  another's,  will  make  all 
labored  and  artificial.  The  mind  must  ever  be  left  free  in 
artistic  production. 

'  Again,  concrete,  or  individual  conceptions  must  not  be  given 
at  the  expense  of  general  ideas  or  thoughts ;  nor  must  a  general 
idea  or  thought  be  given  at  the  expense  of  vivid  specific  concep- 
tions.    These  two,  however,  are  not  antagonistic  to  each  other. 


32  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

A  specific  idea  cannot  be  too  vivid  so  long  as  it  is  conceived 
also  in  relation  to  another,  or  to  a  general  truth.  The  mind 
must  not  only  be  trained  to  hold  individual  ideas  vividly,  but 
also  to  hold  them  vividly  in  relation  to  a  general  truth.* 

Problem  IV.  Vividly  conceive  each  successive  centre  of  the 
mind's  attention  in  a  selection  having  a  natural  sequence  of 
simple  ideas. 

13    The  grey-eyed  morn  smiles  on  the  frowning  night, 

Checkering  the  eastern  clouds  with  streaks  of  light; 

And  flecked  darkness  like  a  drunkard  reels 

From  forth  day's  path,  and  Titan's  fiery  wheels. 

Shakespeare 


14    The  morn  in  russet  mantle  clad 

Walks  o'er  the  dew  of  yon  high  eastern  hill. 


Shakespeare. 


15    The  point  of  one  white  star  is  quivering  still 
Deep  in  the  orange  light  of  widening  morn, 
Beyond  the  purple  mountains :  through  a  chasm 
Of  wind-divided  mist  the  darker  lake 
Keflects  it.  Shelley. 

Problem  V.  Exercise  separately  all  the  modes  of  the  mind's 
action,  see  images,  hear  sounds,  feel  vibrations,  and  test  the  mind's 
power  to  conceive  as  the  senses  perceive. 


16    How  pleasantly  the  rising  moon,  between  the  shadow  of  the  mows, 
Looked  on  them  through  the  great  elm-boughs ! 


Whittier. 


17    She  stood  breast-high  amid  the  corn, 


Clasped  by  the  golden  light  of  morn. 
"Ruth."  Hood. 

18  By  day  its  voice  is  low  and  light ;  but  in  the  silent  dead  of  night, 
distinct  as  a  passing  footstep's  fall,  it  echoes  along  the  vacant  hall,  along 
the  ceiling,  along  the  floor,  and  seems  to  say  at  each  chamber  door, 
"  Forever  —  never !  never  —  forever." 


19  No  sweeter  voice  was  ever  heard  in  spring-time  from  the  cuckoo-bird. 

Breaking  the  silence  of  the  seas,  among  the  farthest  Hebrides. 
"The  Reaper."  Wordsworth. 

*  See  Classics,  pp.  14,  79,  82,  83,  251,  269,  309. 


CONCEPTION.  33 

20    It  is  a  beauteous  evening,  calm  and  free; 
The  holy  time  is  quiet  as  a  nun 
Breathless  with  adoration ;  the  broad  sun 
Is  sinking  down  in  its  tranquility ; 
The  gentleness  of  heaven  is  on  the  sea: 
Listen !  the  mighty  being  is  awake, 
And  doth  with  his  eternal  motion  make 
A  sound  like  thunder  —  everlastingly.  Wordsworth. 


21    Oft,  on  a  plat  of  rising  ground,  I  hear  the  far-off  curfew  sound 
Over  some  wide-water'd  shore,  swinging  low  with  sullen  roar. 

Milton. 

22    The  soft,  sweet  moss  shall  be  thy  bed, 
With  crawling  woodbine  overspread, 
By  which  the  silver-shedding  streams 
Shall  gently  melt  thee  into  dreams.  Herrick. 


Problem  VI.     Practise  selections  with  various  combinations  of 
all  these  modes  of  conception. 


23    Through  torrid  tracts  with  fainting  steps  they  go, 

Where  wild  Altama  murmurs  to  their  woe.  Goldsmith. 


24  Far  along,  from  peak  to  peak,  the  rattling  crags  among,  leaps  the 
live  thunder!  not  from  one  lone  cloud,  but  every  mountain  now  hath 
found  a  tongue ;  and  Jura  answers,  through  her  misty  shroud,  back  to  the 
joyous  Alps,  who  call  to  her  aloud.  Byron. 

25    It  is  the  hush  of  night,  and  all  between 

Thy  margin  and  the  mountains,  dusk,  yet  clear, 

Mellow'd  and  mingling,  yet  distinctly  seen, 

Save  darken' d  Jura,  whose  capp'd  heights  appear 

Precipitously  steep ;  and,  drawing  near, 

There  breathes  a  living  fragrance  from  the  shore, 

Of  flowers  yet  fresh  with  childhood;  on  the  ear 

Props  the  light  drip  of  the  suspended  oar, 

Or  chirps  the  grasshopper  one  good-night  carol  more. 

Byron. 


26  Cannon  to  right  of  them,  cannon  to  left  of  them,  cannon  in  front 
of  them  volleyed  and  thundered:  stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell,  boldly 
they  rode  and  well;  into  the  jaws  of  death,  into  the  mouth  of  Hell,  rode 
the  six  hundred.  Tennyson. 


34  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

27  My  soul  is  an  enchanted  boat,  which,  like  a  sleeping  swan  doth 
float  upon  the  silver  waves  of  thy  sweet  singing;  and  thine  doth  like  an 
angel  sit  beside  the  helm,  conducting  it,  while  all  the  winds  with  melody 
are  ringing.  It  seems  to  float  ever,  forever  upon  that  many  winding 
river,  between  mountains,  woods,  abysses,  a  paradise  of  wildernesses. 

Shelley. 

28.    THE  VOYA&E. 
We  left  behind  the  painted  buoy, 

That  tosses  at  the  harbor-mouth ; 
And  madly  danced  our  hearts  with  joy, 

As  fast  we  fleeted  to  the  South ; 
How  fresh  was  every  sight  and  sound 

On  open  main  or  winding  shore ! 
We  knew  the  merry  world  was  round, 

And  we  might  sail  for  evermore. 

How  oft  we  saw  the  Sun  retire, 

And  burn  the  threshold  of  the  night, 
Fall  from  his  Ocean-lane  of  fire, 

And  sleep  beneath  his  pillar' d  light! 
How  oft  the  purple-skirted  robe 

Of  twilight  slowly  downward  drawn. 
As  thro'  the  slumber  of  the  globe 

Again  we  dash'd  into  the  dawn! 

O  hundred  shores  of  happy  climes, 

How  swiftly  stream' d  ye  by  the  bark! 
At  times  the  whole  sea  burn'd,  at  times 

With  wakes  of  fire  we  tore  the  dark ; 
At  times  a  craven  craft  would  shoot 

From  havens  hid  in  fairy  bowers, 
With  naked  limbs  and  flowers  and  fruit; 

But  we  nor  paused  for  fruit  nor  flowers. 

For  one  fair  vision  ever  fled 

Down  the  waste  waters  day  and  night, 
And  still  we  follow' d  where  she  led, 

In  hope  to  gain  upon  her  flight. 
Her  face  was  evermore  unseen, 

And  fixt  upon  the  far  sea-line ; 
But  each  man  murmur' d,  "  O  my  Queen, 

I  follow  till  I  make  thee  mine." 


ABANDON.  35 

And  never  sail  of  ours  was  furl'd, 

Nor  anchor  dropt  at  eve  or  morn ; 
We  loved  the  glories  of  the  world, 

But  laws  of  nature  were  our  scorn ; 
For  blasts  would  rise  and  rave  and  cease, 

But  whence  were  those  that  drove  the  sail 
Across  the  whirlwind's  heart  of  peace, 

And  to  and  thro'  the  counter  gale  ? 

Again  to  colder  climes  we  came, 

For  still  we  followed  where  she  led: 
Now  mate  is  blind  and  captain  lame, 

And  half  the  crew  are  sick  or  dead. 
But  blind  or  lame  or  sick  or  sound 

We  follow  that  which  flies  before: 

We  know  the  merry  world  is  round, 

And  we  may  sail  for  evermore. 

Tennyson. 


IV.    ABANDON. 


29    Mekrilt,  merrily  shall  I  live  now, 

Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough. 


TTTE  have  found  that  conception,  or  impression,  causes 
"  '  expression ;  that  possession  of  an  idea  precedes  and 
determines  manifestation ;  that  reading  aloud  is  simply  think- 
ing aloud;  that  improvement  of  delivery  must  begin  with 
the  cause ;  that  natural  expression  is  from  within  outward, 
and  must  obey  the  laws  of  development :  that  the  mind  must 
concentrate  itself  upon  each  successive  idea,  and  enjoy  it, 
creating  a  conception  and  situation  which  awaken  the  impulse 
to  express.  The  action  of  this  impulse  needs  further  study.  In 
all  involuntary  expression,  an  impulse  from  within  causes  all 
outward  effect.  A  laugh,  for  example,  has  its  cause  in  the  mind. 
The  mental  action  determines  the  agitation  of  the  breathing, 
and  all  modulation  of  the  vocal  organs.  All  natural  expression 
is  spontaneous.    The  word  "  emotion,"  derived,  as  it  is,  from  the 


36  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

tendency  of  all  feeling  to  cause  motion,  implies  that  the  same  is 
true  of  all  expression  in  man.  In  true  natural  expression,  the 
attention  of  the  mind  upon  an  idea  awakens  a  conception ;  the 
conception  awakens  emotion;  and  the  emotion  awakens  the 
vocal  or  physical  actions.  Expression  is  a  jmysical  action  caused 
by  psychic  activity.  To  improve  expression  naturally,  there- 
fore, the  central  impulse  needs  to  be  stimulated.  When  this  is 
not  done,  the  result  is  mechanical  and  artificial. 

There  are  two  views  of  expression.  According  to  one,  a 
speaker  conveys  an  idea,  or  expresses  an  emotion,  by  using  his 
will  to  perform  certain  acts.  According  to  the  other,  he  holds 
the  idea  vividly  before  his  mind,  and  thus  causes  it  to  awaken 
impulses  from  all  parts  of  his  nature.  The  will  does  not  directly 
originate  the  physical  acts  of  expression :  it  only  directs,  regu- 
lates, and  guides  these  acts ;  its  chief  function  is  to  sustain  atten- 
tion, —  to  restrain  and  to  reserve  emotion,  rather  than  to  impel. 

The  first,  or  mechanical  view,  is  more  common.  Many 
regard  expression  as  almost  exclusively  the  product  of  volition. 
They  often  take  the  word  in  its  literal  sense,  "  to  press  out," 
and  think  that  it  implies  only  the  execution  of  certain  acts; 
as  if  the  expression  of  thought  and  feeling  were  like  the 
mechanical  act  of  pressing  the  juice  out  of  a  lemon.  According 
to  the  second  view,  expression  is  the  outward  pressure  of  inward 
life.  As  the  life  of  a  tree  utters  itself  through  its  leaves ;  as  the 
pressure  from  the  root  of  the  plant  brings  forth  the  flower ;  as 
nature  everywhere  has  an  outward  pressure  from  inward  pleni- 
tude, —  has  a  force,  "  which,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light, 
climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flower ; "  —  so  man,  though  he  has 
additional  regulation  and  guidance,  on  account  of  his  rational 
nature,  yet  he  has  spontaneous  energies  of  thought  and  emotion 
which  furnish  the  impulse  to  express. 

The  relation  of  reason  and  will  to  emotion,  the  deliberative 
and  the  voluntary  to  the  involuntary  elements  in  expression,  is 
well  illustrated  by  the  relation  of  the  driver  to  his  horse,  —  the 


ABAXD0X.  37 

horse  furnishes  the  force,  the  driver  only  directs.  So  the 
spontaneous  energies  of  the  man  furnish  the  motive  power, 
while  the  will  simply  gives  guidance.  There  is  an  analogy  to 
this  in  nature :  there  is  not  only  spontaneous  impulse,  but 
simultaneously  spontaneous  guidance.  The  delicate,  unopened 
flower  is  enfolded  in  a  rough  calyx,  and  held  tightly  until  the 
parts  have  grown  strong  enough  to  force  apart  the  restraining 
shield.  The  outer  leaves  of  certain  palms  are  so  stitched 
together  as  to  hold  them  gently  folded,  till  the  younger  leaves 
have  grown  strong  enough  to  stand  sun,  ah,  and  rain.  In  fact, 
nowhere  in  nature  does  spontaneity  mean  merely  an  inner 
impulse,  but  rather  a  co-ordination  or  co-operation  of  many  ele- 
ments. The  inner  impulse  is  fundamental,  —  others  act  in 
subordination.  So,  spontaneity  in  man  means  a  co-operation  of 
his  whole  nature.  There  must  be  not  only  impulse,  but  delib- 
eration ;  there  must  be  co-ordination  of  thought,  emotion  and 
will.  Nothing  is  more  natural  to  man,  than  a  co-ordination  of 
inward  impulse  and  volitional  guidance.  As  the  spirit  of  the 
horse  is  not  killed  by  being  tamed,  so  true  artistic  training 
regulates  but  does  not  destroy  emotion  and  instinct.  True 
artistic  training  develops  both  the  artistic  impulse  and  its 
artistic  direction. 

Naturalness,  or  the  highest  characteristic  of  expression, 
implies  that  all  parts  act  in  unity.  As  life  diffuses  itself  into 
every  part  of  a  flower  or  an  animal,  so  naturalness  in  a  human 
being  means  the  harmonious  responsiveness  of  every  part  of  the 
body  to  the  impulses  of  the  soul.  All  parts  may  not  move,  but 
all  are  alive  and  responsive  in  texture.  The  essential  requisite 
of  naturalness  and  spontaneity  is  abandon.  The  mind  must  have 
a  vivid  idea,  but  there  must  be  a  certain  passive  yielding  to  the 
domination  of  this  idea.  Rational  abstractions  do  not  stimulate 
harmonious  expression.  True  abandon  is  the  giving  of  the 
whole  nature  to  a  subject.  It  is  the  giving  of  self  to  the  natural, 
spontaneous,  and  harmonious  co-operation  of  thought,  emotion, 


38  VOCAIi   EXPRESSION. 

and  will,  —  no  one  of  these  excluding  or  displacing  the  others, 
but  all  acting  in  unity.  Such  abandon  results  in  the  union  of 
all  impulses,  and  in  that  spontaneity  which  is  the  most  charming 
quality  of  art.  Such  abandon  often  causes  less  motion,  less 
external  agitation ;  but  it  creates  deeper  and  wider  diffusion  of 
energy  from  a  normal  centre  of  the  body,  and  causes  repose 
rather  than  wild  impulsiveness.  It  makes  expression  harmonious 
and  all-sided. 

There  are  two  general  faults  in  expression.  One  of  these  is 
mechanical  artificiality,  which  is  caused  by  too  much  repression 
and  regulation ;  the  other  is  wild  impulsiveness,  which  is  not 
due  to  abandon,  but  is  the  result  of  one-sided  and  exaggerated 
action  of  some  one  element  or  faculty.  These  two  faults,  how- 
ever, are  nearer  together  than  is  often  supposed.  There  is  often 
repression,  for  instance,  where  it  is  not  suspected.  In  fact, 
impulsiveness  is  not  the  result  of  spontaneity,  but  of  the  repres- 
sion of  the  deliberative  and  guiding  powers  of  the  soul.  Cold- 
ness and  mechanical  artificiality,  on  the  other  hand,  result  from 
the  repression  of  the  imagination  and  feeling. 

The  study  of  abandon  brings  us  into  contact  with  another 
fault,  —  drifting.  Some  confound  abandon  with  this,  but  the 
best  remedy,  if  not  the  only  one,  for  the  emotional  vice  of 
drifting,  is  abandon  to  each  successive  idea.  The  cause  of 
drifting  is  abandon  to  the  general  situation,  rather  than  to  each 
idea,  —  to  the  time  and  place,  and  to  the  theme  as  a  whole. 
This  is  not  true  abandon :  true  abandon  is  the  giving  of  self  to 
each  successive  idea ;  which  is  the  fundamental  requisite  of  all 
truthful  feeling.  False  abandon,  on  the  contrary,  or  drifting, 
causes  a  general  indefinite  ecstacy,  which  is  not  genuine 
emotion  at  all. 

Notwithstanding  these  simple  principles,  there  is  an  almost 
universal  demand  for  rules,  for  something  "  definite  and  practi- 
cal" which  can  be  done  by  volitional  action,  even  without 
thought.     Repression,  constriction,  and  imitation  are  adopted; 


ABANDON.  39 

nature  is  not  only  not  studied,  but  her  most  important  principles 
are  violated.  The  same  danger  is  found  in  other  arts,  though 
possibly  in  a  less  degree.  Students  in  learning  to  draw  often 
become  purely  mechanical  in  working  on  technical  execution. 
There  is  too  often  no  attempt  to  awaken  normal  impulses,  and 
to  stimulate  the  imagination,  or  even  a  love  for  art.  In  any  art 
work,  all  results  will  be  limited,  mechanical,  artificial,  and  con- 
ventional, unless  there  is  an  awakening  of  the  artistic  faculties. 
There  can  be  no  true  education  of  the  human  being  without 
studying  or  obeying  nature's  own  methods.  All  art  wor^:  is 
dependent  upon  instinct,  and  it  can  be  improved  only  by  stimu- 
lating and  trusting  instinct.  Only  the  false,  the  untrue,  the 
unnatural,  are  to  be  repressed.  Growth  is  primarily  a  sponta- 
neous result;  development  can  be  secured  only  by  stimulating 
nature's  own  processes.  Man  can  sow  the  seed,  improve  the 
soil,  and  in  many  ways  secure  higher  results,  but  the  living  im- 
pulse is  from  nature  herself. 

The  development  of  expression  demands  that  the  mind  be 
called  away  from  wandering  fancies,  from  conflictir  ideas,  and 
become  concentrated  upon  a  central  idea,  and  th.  sensibilities 
will  be  brought  into  a  response  to  this  idea.  Vague,  indefinite 
feeling  can  be  prevented  only  by  giving  the  whole  nature  to  one 
idea  or  situation.  The  definite  abandon  of  the  whole  nature  to 
each  successive  idea,  is  the  only  way  to  make  expression  truthful 
and  strong.  Few  have  any  conception  of  what  is  natural ;  to 
many,  whatever  is  comfortable  is  natural.  An  insight  into  the 
processes  of  nature  is  of  great  importance,  in  order  to  realize 
fully  what  is  deliberative  and  what  is  spontaneous.  A  man 
may  laugh,  and  may  observe  what  he  does  without  interfering 
with  it ;  he  may  yawn  against  his  will,  and  be  conscious  of  what 
has  gone  on  within,  independent  of  his  own  choice.  So  a  man 
may  sigh  and  shed  tears,  and  even  modulate  and  inflect  his  voice, 
under  the  influence  of  emotion  involuntarily,  and  at  the  same 
time  be  awake  to  what  is  taking  place.     One  of  the  most  diffi- 


40  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

cult  tasks  in  developing  expression  is  to  become  able  to  observe 
ourselves,  and  not  to  interfere  with  the  normal  processes  of 
thought  and  emotion. 

This  is  a  principle  which  applies  to  all  training.  We  cannot 
distinguish  what  is  natural  until  we  can  feel  in  consciousness  the 
difference  between  what  is  done  for  us,  and  what  we  do  our- 
selves. In  other  words,  we  must  learn  the  difference  between 
what  is  involuntary  and  spontaneous,  and  what  is  voluntary  and 
deliberative.  Naturalness  is  a  proper  union  of  the  two,  and 
prevents  deliberative  and  mechanical  actions  from  displacing 
spontaneous  actions.  True  training  stimulates  both,  and  brings 
them  into  harmonious  co-operation. 

Whether  there  should  be  most  work  upon  conscious  and 
deliberative  actions,  or  upon  endeavors  to  stimulate  the  sponta- 
neous impulses,  depends  upon  the  needs  of  the  individual ;  but 
with  many  of  the  students  of  our  modern  schools,  there  is  such 
an  exaggeration  of  deliberative  work,  that  the  chief  need  is 
first  to  secure  proper  abandon,  to  teach  the  student  to  trust  his 
instincts,  and  to  have  a  consciousness  of  the  force  of  involuntary 
impulses,  in  co-ordination  with  voluntary  action. 

In  order  to  develop  abandon  and  spontaneity,  let  the  student 
take  some  extract  full  of  simple  ideas  and  noble  emotion.  Let 
him  secure  first  an  imaginative  conception  of  the  situation,  and 
a  sympathetic  assimilation  of  the  experience,  until  the  impulses 
are  awakened  in  his  own  nature,  —  and  then  let  him  abandon 
himself  to  these  so  as  to  give  a  simple,  truthful  manifestation. 
Conscious  direction  must  be  reduced  to  the  minimum.  The 
man  must  feel  the  co-operation  of  involuntary  impulse  with 
voluntary  direction.  Those  who  find  it  easy  to  become  ridicu- 
lous will  find  that  they  act  one-sidedly  and  at  random.  The 
great  majority  will  find  at  once  that  emotion  is  a  law  unto 
itself ;  that  thought  and  emotion,  when  not  divorced  by  false 
education,  are  ever  united; — in  short,  that  thought,  emotion, 
and  will  are  three  elements  which  inter-penetrate  and  comple- 


ABANDON.  41 

ment  each  other  in  all  the  normal  impulses  of  the  human  heart, 
and  by  proper  education  and  proper  stimulation  may  be  more 
perfectly  balanced  and  co-ordinated. 

All  emotions  are  not  equally  adapted  for  practice.  It  is  never 
safe,  for  example,  to  begin  with  sorrow ;  for  sorrow  tends  to 
drift  into  its  counterfeit,  sadness.  Neither  is  it  safe  to  begin 
with  indignation,  which  the  student  always  tends  to  degrade 
into  anger.  The  noble  emotions,  such  as  joy,  admiration  of 
nature,  or  some  form  of  love,  must  first  be  practised.  When  we 
come  to  Vocal  Training  we  shall  see  additional  reasons  for  prac- 
tising these  emotions,  especially  at  the  beginning.  One  of  the 
most  helpful  emotions  to  practise  for  the  development  of  spon- 
taneity, is  the  love  of  nature.  Admiration  of  nature  is  charac- 
teristic of  all  artists.  Those  lyrics  which  contain  a  genuine  love 
of  the  objects  and  processes  around  us  can  be  safely  practised: 
they  are  the  surest  means  of  developing  the  artistic  instincts  of 
the  human  soul.  Only  noble  emotion  will  stimulate  spontaneity ; 
sincerity  is  the  first  requisite  of  practice. 

In  the  practice  of  simple  lyrics  many  diificulties  will  be  met. 
It  is  hard  to  see  our  own  lack  of  abandon,  or  to  point  it  out  in 
others ;  students  will  be  conscious  that  something  is  wrong,  but 
will  not  be  aware  of  the  cause.  To  reveal  this  is  the  teacher's 
function,  but  the  student  must  be  made  to  discover  it  himself. 
By  leading  him  to  trust  himself  to  a  variety  of  emotions  and 
situations,  he  can  be  made  to  realize  his  needs.  Again,  when  a 
student  undertakes  such  practice  he  is  sure  to  make  too  much 
effort.  All  effort  is  the  exercise  of  the  voluntary  muscles  and 
agents,  and  is  in  many  forms  antagonistic  to  abandon. 

Of  the  importance  of  abandon,  too  much  can  hardly  be  said. 
It  is  a  spontaneous  impulse  struggling  into  conscious  form,  that 
is  a  universal  characteristic  of  all  eloquence,  all  poetry,  all  art. 
In  fact,  abandon  is  the  greatest  requisite  to  all  art  work.  The 
greatest  difficulty  is  to  get  a  man  to  give  himself  up  to  an  idea, 
to  trust  the  co-ordinated  impulses  of  his  nature.   "  No  man,"  says 


42  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Edward  Everett  Hale,  "  will  ever  make  a  speaker  till  he  is  willing 
to  make  himself  a  fool  for  the  sake  of  his  subject." 

There  are  many  special  advantages  in  practice  for  the  develop- 
ment of  abandon.  A  man  must  feel  that  his  impulses  can  be 
trusted,  that  they  are  strong,  and  tend  ever,  when  right  them- 
selves, to  produce  right  results.  Such  practice  creates  true  con- 
fidence, and  is  the  most  helpful  way  to  correct  self-conscious- 
ness. Self-consciousness  is  the  attention  of  the  speaker  to  himself, 
instead  of  to  the  ideas  which  he  is  trying  to  convey.  By  con- 
centrating the  whole  mind  upon  each  idea,  and  abandoning 
himself  to  the  situation,  the  great  central  impulses  of  the  man 
are  aroused ;  attention  and  consciousness  become  f ocussed,  and 
the  man  in  a  true  sense  forgets  himself. 

Self-consciousness  and  other  forms  of  lack  of  abandon  need 
also  for  their  correction  a  proper  training  of  the  voice  and  the 
body.  A  man  often  becomes  self-conscious  and  constrained 
because  the  inner  impulses  of  his  nature  have  no  freedom  for 
out-flow  through  voice  and  body.  Strange  to  say,  exaggeration 
is  rarely  due  to  abandon,  but  more  frequently  to  imitation  of 
abandon.  Exaggeration  is  untrue,  because  the  man  is  untrue. 
Frank  abandon  is  the  most  direct  road  to  simplicity  and  truth- 
fulness. Abandon  shows  the  real  man,  —  not  only  his  habits, 
but  his  peculiarities,  and  his  possibilities. 

Again,  true  abandon  is  the  secret  of  right  feeling.  The  chief 
requisites  of  truthful  emotion  are  simplicity,  sincerity,  and  repose. 
The  only  way  to  have  feeling  is  to  concentrate  the  mind  upon 
the  pictures  of  the  poem,  and  to  hold  ourselves  in  sympathy  with 
the  situation,  giving  expression  to  what  awakens  in  our  hearts 
with  simpleness,  truthfulness,  and  sincerity. 

Abandon  is  a  step  which  has  to  be  practised  from  first  to  last 
in  all  work  for  development  of  delivery.  It  is  the  highest  attain- 
ment, the  last  step ;  but  it  must  also  be  the  first.  It  is  a  great 
mistake  to  make  a  student  work  entirely  by  rule,  to  do  every- 
thing artificially  and  mechanically,  hoping  that  the  real  impulse 


ABANDON.  43 

of  the  man  will  awaken  later,  and  remove  the  evils  of  such  a 
method.  When  the  right  steps  are  taken  from  the  first,  not 
only  can  the  abandon  be  secured,  but  the  evil  of  constrained 
habits  can  also  be  prevented,  and  even  the  technical  actions  be 
developed  to  greater  correctness  and  power.* 

Problem  VII.  Take  some  animated  extract,  vividly  conceive 
each  idea,  and  yield  to  its  influence.  See,  feel,  and  then  tell  simply 
and  naturally,  only  what  has  been  seen  and  felt. 


30    Away  !  away !  our  fires  stream  bright 
Along  the  frozen  river, 
And  their  arrowy  sparkles  of  brilliant  light 
On  the  forest  branches  quiver. 


31.    TO  MT  SISTER. 
It  is  the  first  mild  day  of  March :  each  minute  sweeter  than  before, 
The  redbreast  sings  from  the  tall  larch  that  stands  beside  our  door. 
There  is  a  blessing  in  the  air,  which  seems  a  sense  of  joy  to  yield 
To  the  bare  trees  and  mountains  bare,  and  grass  in  the  green  field.  .  . . 
Love,  now  a  universal  birth,  from  heart  to  heart  is  stealing, 
From  earth  to  man,  from  man  to  earth ;  it  is  the  hour  of  feeling. 
One  moment  now  may  give  us  more  than  fifty  years  of  reason : 
Our  minds  shall  drink  at  every  pore  the  spirit  of  the  season. 
Some  silent  law  our  hearts  will  make,  which  they  shall  long  obey: 
We  for  the  year  to  come  may  take  our  temper  from  to-day. 
And  from  the  blessed  power  that  rolls  about,  below,  above, 
We'll  frame  the  measure  of  our  souls:  they  shall  be  tuned  to  love. 
Then  come,  my  sister !  come,  I  pray,  with  speed  put  on  your  woodland  dress; 

And  bring  no  book:  for  this  one  day  we'll  give  to  idleness. 

Wordsworth. 


32.  It  was  a  lover  and  his  lass,  with  a  hey  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey-nonino! 

that  o'er  the  green  cornfield  did  pass  in  the  spring-time,  the  only  pretty 

ring-time,  when  birds  do  sing  hey  ding  a  ding:  sweet  lovers  love  the 

Spring.    Between  the  acres  of  the  rye  these  pretty  country  folks  would 

lie:  this  carol  they  began  that  hour,  how  that  life  was  but  a  flower:  and 

therefore  take  the  present  time,  with  a  hey  and  a  ho  and  a  hey-nonino! 

For  love  is  crowned  with  the  prime  in  the  spring-time,  the  only  pretty 

ring-time,  when  birds  do  sing  hey  ding  a  ding:  sweet  lovers  love  the 

Spring.  Shakespeare. 

*  See  Classics,  pp.  12, 121,  340,  86,  272. 


44  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

33.    APPLE  BLOSSOMS. 

Have  you  seen  an  apple  orchard  in  the  spring?  in  the  spring?  An 
English  apple  orchard  in  the  spring?  When  the  spreading  trees  are 
hoary  with  their  wealth  of  promised  glory,  and  the  mavis  pipes  his  story 
in  the  spring!  Have  you  plucked  the  apple  blossoms  in  the  spring?  in 
the  spring?  And  caught  their  subtle  odors  in  the  spring?  Pink  buds 
bursting  at  the  light,  crumpled  petals  baby-white,  just  to  touch  them  a 
delight!  in  the  spring! 

Have  you  walked  beneath  the  blossoms  in  the  spring?  in  the  spring? 
Beneath  the  apple  blossoms  in  the  spring?  When  the  pink  cascades 
were  falling,  and  the  silver  brooklets  brawling,  and  the  cuckoo  bird  is 
calling  in  the  spring? 

Have  you  seen  a  merry  bridal  in  the  spring?  in  the  spring?  In  an 
English  apple  country  in  the  spring?  When  the  brides  and  maidens 
wear  apple  blossoms  in  their  hair;  apple  blossoms  everywhere,  in  the 
spring?  If  you  have  not,  then  you  know  not,  in  the  spring,  in  the 
spring,  half  the  color,  beauty,  wonder  of  the  spring.  No  sight  can  I  re- 
member, half  so  precious,  half  so  tender,  as  the  apple  blossoms  render  in 

the  spring! 

William  Welsey  Martin. 


34.    SELF-DEPENDEJTCE. 

Weary  of  myself,  and  sick  of  asking 
What  I  am,  and  what  I  ought  to  be, 
At  this  vessel's  prow  I  stand,  which  bears  me 
Forward,  forward,  o'er  the  starlit  sea. 

And  a  look  of  passionate  desire 

O'er  the  sea  and  to  the  stars  I  send; 

"  Ye  who  from  my  childhood  up  have  calm'd  me, 

Calm  me,  ah,  compose  me  to  the  end ! 

"Ah,  once  more,"  I  cried  "ye  stars,  ye  waters, 
On  my  heart  your  mighty  charm  renew; 
Still,  still  let  me,  as  I  gaze  upon  you, 
Feel  my  soul  becoming  vast  like  you! " 

From  the  intense,  clear,  star-sown  vault  of  heaven, 
Over  the  lit  sea's  unquiet  way, 
In  the  rustling  night  air  came  the  answer,  — 
"  Wouldst  thou  be  as  these  are  ?    Live  as  they. 


RESPONSIVENESS.  45 

"  Unaff righted  by  the  silence  round  them, 
Undistracted  by  the  sights  they  see, 
These  demand  not  that  the  things  without  them 
Yield  them  love,  amusement,  sympathy. 

"And  with  joy  the  stars  perform  their  shining, 
And  the  sea  its  long  moon-silver'd  roll; 
For  self-poised  they  live,  nor  pine  with  noting 
All  the  fever  of  some  differing  soul. 

"  Bounded  by  themselves,  and  unregardful 
In  what  state  God' s  other  works  may  be, 
In  their  own  tasks  all  their  powers  pouring, 
These  attain  the  mighty  life  you  see." 

O  air-born  voice  !  long  since,  severely  clear, 

A  cry  like  thine  in  mine  own  heart  I  hear: 

"  Resolve  to  be  thyself  ;  and  know  that  he 

Who  finds  himself  loses  his  misery ! " 

Matthew  Arnold. 


V.    EESPONSIVENESS. 


35    The  day  is  done,  and  the  darkness  falls  from  the  wings  of  Night, 
As  a  feather  is  wafted  downward  from  an  eagle  in  his  flight. 

Longfellow. 

36    Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean  —  roll! 
Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain. 


Byron. 

TT  has  been  found  that  expression  results  from  a  spontaneous 
■*-  impulse ;  that  this  is  associated  with  ideas  which  succeed 
each  other  by  a  rhythmic  law  of  association ;  that  expression 
depends  for  its  effectiveness  upon  the  vividness  of  each  suc- 
cessive idea ;  and  that  we  must  yield  passive  as  well  as  active 
attention  to  them.  It  can  next  be  seen  that  it  is  very  difficult 
to  tell  spontaneous  and  natural  expression  from  that  which  is 
mechanical.  Mechanical  dexterity  is  often  mistaken  for  spon- 
taneity. How  can  abandon  be  tested  ?  How  can  genuine  respon- 
siveness be  distinguished  from  mere  mechanical  execution  ? 

Read  or  recite,  as  sincerely  as  possible,  these  two  extracts. 
They  differ  in  thought  and  feeling ;  they  should  differ  in  ex- 


46  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

pression.  Do  you  tend  to  read  them  alike  ?  The  only  way  to 
judge  a  conception  of  the  mind  is  by  its  effect  upon  the  man  ;  a 
comparison  like  this,  therefore,  furnishes  a  criterion  by  which 
we  can  judge  the  adequacy  of  conception,  and  the  truthfulness 
of  the  response  to  it  in  emotion. 

The  practice  of  such  problems  also  tests  the  response  of  the 
voice  and  body  to  feeling.  If  the  modulations  or  changes  in 
the  form  and  texture  of  the  voice  are  the  same  in  both  cases, 
either  there  is  no  imaginative  realization,  or  no  change  in  feel- 
ing, or  the  voice  is  rigid  and  unresponsive.  Consciously  or 
unconsciously,  the  reader  must  change  his  point  of  view ;  the 
thought  must  not  be  given  as  abstract,  —  there  must  be  sympathy 
and  genuine  identification  of  himself  with  the  situation.  He 
must  not  only  think,  but  give  himself  to  his  thought.  There 
must  be  a  response  from  the  man's  whole  being ;  his  whole  mind 
and  his  whole  body  must  sympathetically  share  in  the  process. 
That  subtle,  natural  flexibility  of  the  whole  expression  can  hardly 
be  mechanically  imitated ;  it  is  a  spontaneous  responsiveness. 

Aside  from  the  hindrances  to  abandon,  which  would  of  course 
hinder  responsiveness,  being,  as  it  is,  but  an  effect  or  test  of 
abandon,  many  others  may  be  mentioned.  There  is,  for  ex- 
ample, a  tendency  to  drift.  Every  emotion  leaves  a  wake, 
whenever  feeling  is  aroused,  it  tends  to  flow  in  a  straight  line ; 
it  is  only  modulated  by  the  sequence  of  ideas.  There  must  be 
a  response  from  each  successive  conception,  and  the  conception 
must  be  strong  enough  to  cause  this  response.  This  is  the  secret 
of  controlling  passion. 

Many  persons  have  a  very  small  gamut  of  passion.  Some 
speakers  have  only  one  or  two  emotions  in  their  delivery ;  some 
have  none  at  all.  The  reason  for  this  is  not  because  they  entirely 
lack  passion, — they  have  genuine  feelings  in  life  —  but  because, 
when  upon  then-  feet  they  are  unable  to  bring  an  idea  into  such 
vivid  and  sympathetic  relations  with  feeling  as  to  awaken  any 
response  in  themselves.     Some  have  an  habitual  and  false  re- 


RESPONSIVENESS.  47 

sponse;  many  confuse  tenderness  with  sadness.  In  much  of 
our  public  speaking,  there  is  a  failure  to  give  definite  emotion : 
there  is  a  tendency  to  neutrality  and  monotony,  with  the  elimi- 
nation of  emotion  on  the  one  hand  ;  or,  on  the  other,  to  drift  pas- 
sively into  an  ecstatic  feeling.  The  practice  of  such  contrasts  as 
are  here  given  as  problems,  enables  the  student  to  discover  his 
peculiar  tendencies,  and  to  develop  genuineness  in  feeling,  and 
truthfulness  in  expression. 

The  whole  question  of  expression  is  one  of  responsiveness. 
Expression  is  simply  a  significant  change  of  voice  and  body,  —  a 
change  caused  by  change  in  thought  and  feeling.  A  man  may 
have  clear  ideas,  and  find  no  response  to  these  on  the  part  of 
the  imagination  ;  he  may  have  vivid  conceptions,  but  these  may 
be  divorced  from  all  feeling ;  he  may  have  vivid  conceptions  and 
response  of  feeling,  but  the  voice  and  the  body  may  be  so  rigid 
as  to  furnish  a  prison  for  the  concealment  and  death  of  feeling 
and  thought,  rather  than  a  flexible  organism  for  the  living  in- 
carnation of  thought  and  emotion.  These,  and  other  points  of 
response  may  be  regarded  as  so  many  bridges  over  which 
thought  and  emotion  must  pass  in  expression.  When  any  one 
of  the  bridges  is  down,  true  expression  does  not  result.  Or,  to 
change  the  figure,  expression  implies  an  electrical  current  which 
is  especially  liable  to  be  broken  at  these  points,  that  is,  between 
thought  and  emotion,  or  between  emotion  and  voice,  and  only 
one  break  is  necessary  to  destroy  the  current  completely.  The 
development  of  expression  is  dependent  upon  the  discovery  and 
correction  of  these  breaks.  Exercises  in  contrast  form  one  of 
the  most  effective  means  of  realizing  a  lack  of  responsiveness, 
and  also  of  causing  the  response  to  be  genuine. 
»  These  contrasts  —  or  changes  in  response,  point  of  view,  situa- 
tion, or  f eeling  —  are  found  in  nearly  every  sentence  in  all  the 
best  literature.  Noble  literature  is  the  expression  in  words  of 
the  union  of  thought  and  feeling,  and  Vocal  Expression  is  the 
interpretation  of  this  union  through  the  living  voice.      Such 


48  VOCAIi   EXPRESSION. 

changes  in  response  form  a  most  important   element  in  true 
delivery. 

37    You  bells  in  the  steeple,  ring,  ring  out  your  changes, 

How  many  soever  they  be, 

And  let  the  brown  meadow-lark's  note  as  he  ranges 

Come  over,  come  over  to  me. 

Ingelow. 


In  these  lines,  the  bells  and  the  lark,  when  genuinely  con- 
ceived, cause  a  change  in  the  expression.  The  mind  even  tends 
to  change  the  direction  of  the  supposed  objects.  Each  has  a 
situation  of  its  own,  so  that  the  response  and  expression  of  each 
idea  is  entirely  different. 

38    Clouds  and  darkness  are  round  about  him: 

Righteousness  and  judgment  are  the  foundation  of  his  throne. 


When  we  read  over  these  two  lines,  they  seem  at  first  to  be 
the  same ;  but  when  we  read  them  over  thoughtfully,  and  think 
of  them,  we  find  that  there  is  a  contrast  in  the  point  of  view,  and 
in  the  thought  and  feeling.  To  read  them  both  in  the  same 
tone  of  voice,  and  from  the  same  mental  or  emotional  point  of 
view,  loses  the  real  spirit,  feeling,  and  even  thought  of  the 
passage.  The  mind  must  change  its  point  of  view,  and  conse- 
quently the  emotion  and  the  texture  and  color  of  the  voice.* 

Problem  VIII.  Head  two  extracts  with  as  much  contrast  as 
possible  in  thought  and  feeling,  and  observe  the  difference  in 
Expression. 

39    Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  bark,  before  the  gale  she  bounds  : 

So  darts  the  dolphin  from  the  shark,  or  the  deer  before  the  hounds. 

Scott. 

40    On,  somewhere,  somewhere,  God  unknown,  exist  and  be ! 
I  am  dying  ;  I  am  all  alone ;  I  must  have  Thee. 
God !  God !  my  sense,  my  soul,  my  all,  dies  in  the  cry :  — 
Saw'st  thou  the  faint  star  flame  and  fall?    Ah  !  it  was  I. 

Myers. 

*  See  Classics,  pp.  39,  43,  50 ;  and  pp.  34-37,  46,  98,  200,  305,  81. 


RESPONSIVENESS.  4y 

41  The  Wildgrave  winds  his  bugle  horn,  to  horse,  to  horse!  halloo, 

halloo !    His  fiery  courser  snuffs  the  morn,  and  thronging  serfs  their  lord 

pursue.    The  eager  pack,  from  couples  freed,  dash  through  the  brush, 

the  brier,  the  brake;  while  answering  hound,  and  horn,  and  steed,  the 

mountain  echoes  startling  wake. 
"  Wild  Huntsman."  Scott. 

42  Why  so  pale  and  wan,  fond  lover?  Prithee  why  so  pale?  Will 
when  looking  well  can't  move  her,  looking  ill  prevail?  Prithee  why  so 
pale?  Why  so  dull  and  mute,  young  sinner?  Prithee  why  so  mute? 
Will,  when  speaking  well  can't  win  her,  saying  nothing  do 't?  Prithee 
why  so  mute?  

43    Now  leaps  the  wind  on  the  sleepy  marsh, 

And  tramples  the  grass  with  terrified  feet ; 
The  startled  river  turns  leaden  and  harsh, 

You  can  hear  the  quick  heart  of  the  tempest  beat. 


44    I  wield  the  flail  of  the  lashing  hail, 

And  whiten  the  green  plains  under : 
And  then  again  I  dissolve  it  in  rain, 
And  laugh  as  I  pass  in  thunder. 


Shelley. 


45    My  pipe  is  lit,  and  all  is  snug ;  old  Puss  is  in  her  elbow  chair,  and 

Tray  is  sitting  on  the  rug.     Last  night  I  had  a  curious  dream:    Miss 

Susan  Bates  was  Mistress  Mogg.     What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  Cat? 

What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  Dog? 
"  The  Bachelor's  Dream.."  Hood. 

46    Slow  fades  the  vision  of  the  sky,  the  golden  water  pales, 

And  over  all  the  valley  land,  a  gray-winged  vapor  sails. 

I  go  the  common  way  of  all ;  the  sunset  fires  will  burn, 

The  flowers  will  blow,  the  river  flow,  when  I  no  more  return. 

No  whisper  from  the  mountain  pine,  nor  lapsing  stream  shall  tell 

The  stranger,  treading  where  I  tread,  of  him  who  loved  them  well. 

But  beauty  seen  is  never  lost,  God's  colors  all  are  fast; 

The  glory  of  this  sunset  heaven  into  my  soul  has  passed  — 

A  sense  of  gladness  unconfined,  to  mortal  date  or  clime : 

As  the  soul  liveth,  it  shall  live,  beyond  the  years  of  time. 

Beside  the  mystic  asphodels  shall  bloom  the  home-borne  flowers, 

And  new  horizons  flush  and  glow,  with  sunset  hues  of  ours. 

Whittier. 

4 


50  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Problem  IX.  Study  the  change  in  emotion  and  thought  in 
passing  from  one  idea  or  situation  to  another  in  the  same  sen- 
tence or  poem,  and  read  so  as  to  give  true  and  harmonious  ex- 
pression to  each.  

47    No  record  Art  keeps  of  her  travail  and  throes. 

There  is  toil  on  the  steeps ;  on  the  summits,  repose. 

William,  Watson. 

48    In  the  hush  of  the  autumn  night  I  hear  the  voice  of  the  sea, 

In  the  hush  of  the  autumn  night  it  seems  to  say  to  me  — 

Mine  are  the  winds  above,  mine  are  the  caves  below, 

Mine  are  the  dead  of  yesterday  and  the  dead  of  long  ago ! 

And  I  think  of  the  fleet  that  sailed  from  the  lovely  Gloucester  shore, 

I  think  of  the  fleet  that  sailed  and  came  back  nevermore ! 

T.  B.  Aldrich. 

VI.    MODES  OF  EXPRESSION. 

OBJECTS  differ  from  each  other  in  size,  form,  texture,  struc- 
ture, and  color.  They  also  vary  in  relation  to  the  observer, 
according  to  distance,  direction,  and  the  like.  Conceptions  of 
objects  differ  in  the  same  way.  The  question  arises,  how  can 
these  differences  be  conveyed  through  the  voice  ?  Let  us  look 
at  the  following  extract :  — 

49     "  God!"     let  the  torrents,  like  a  shout  of  nations, 
Answer!  and  let  the  ice-plain  echo,  "God!" 
"  God!"  sing,  ye  meadow  streams,  with  gladsome  voice! 
Te  pine  groves,  with  your  soft  and  soul-like  sounds! 
And  they,  too,  have  a  voice,  yon  piles  of  snow, 
And  in  their  perilous  fall  shall  thunder,  "  God!' 


i" 


This  can  be  read  in  two  ways.  In  speaking  the  word  '  God* 
I  can  imitate  with  my  voice  the  torrents,  the  meadow  streams, 
or  the  avalanche ;  or  I  can  stand  as  an  imaginary,  imaginative, 
and  sympathetic  spectator,  and  manifest  my  feeling  of  awe  and 
reverence  as  I  recognize  the  meaning  of  the  sounds. 

Which  of  these  is  better  ?  The  first  is  the  method  of  ordinary 
elocution ;  the  other  is  a  vital  point  in  the  method  now  being 


MODES    OF   EXPRESSION.  51 

unfolded.  One  can  be  applied  only  to  a  low  form  of  literature ; 
the  other  is  more  appropriate  the  higher  the  poetry.  One  is 
mechanical,  the  other  is  spontaneous ;  one  is  artificial,  and  calls 
chiefly  for  vocal  skill;  the  other  calls  for  imagination,  and  a 
sympathetic  appreciation  and  identification  with  the  scene.  But 
will  this  second  way  make  any  contrast  ?  It  will  make  more 
than  the  other.  The  control,  too,  will  be  genuine,  and  in  har- 
mony with  the  true  spirit  of  the  poem.  By  the  first  method, 
true  mental,  imaginative,  and  emotional  action  tends  to  be  elim- 
inated ;  but  the  second  method  is  the  better  means  of  securing 
the  right  attitude  and  actions  of  the  mind,  of  awakening  the 
right  faculties,  and  of  stimulating  true  emotion;  in  short,  of 
securing  poetic  expression. 

The  symbolic  mode  of  conveying  ideas  by  words  does  not 
show  these  differences,  and  can  give  little  conception  of  the 
difference  between  two  ideas,  except  by  adjectives  and  qualifiers, 
and  even  then  only  indirectly  and  suggestively.  Each  word  is 
a  representation  of  an  idea,  and  will  cause  the  idea  to  awaken  in 
a  mind  that  has  already  conceived  it,  and  associated  it  with  the 
word;  but  a  word  with  which  the  observer  or  hearer  is  not 
familiar  awakens  no  idea  in  the  mind.  Ideas  are  not  so  much 
dependent  upon  words  as  upon  past  experience,  and  past  asso- 
ciation of  ideas  with  words.  When  the  word  'swan,'  for 
example,  is  spoken,  there  awakens  in  nearly  all  our  minds  a 
conception  of  a  white  swan ;  but  the  mental  conception  of  one 
who  may  have  been  familiar  with  black  swans  will  tend  to 
correspond  with  his  experience,  —  or  one  who  has  been  strongly 
impressed  with  a  black  swan  will  tend  to  re-conceive  it.  Thus, 
for  the  most  part,  words  are  only  artificial  reminders  of  con- 
ceptions we  have  already  had.  Occasionally  words  may  be 
combined  so  as  to  suggest  conceptions  more  or  less  new.  Though 
one  has  never  seen  a  black  swan,  he  conceives  one  when  the 
word  '  black '  is  added  to  the  word  '  swan.'  In  this  way,  words 
can  convey  knowledge. 


52  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

There  are  certain  essential  differences  between  ideas  which 
are  shown  by  Vocal  Expression,  and  those  expressed  by  words. 
Some  contend  that  the  tone  of  voice  can  indicate  the  size  or 
distance  of  an  object ;  others  even  go  so  far  as  to  say  that,  by 
the  mere  tone,  we  may  indicate  the  time  of  day  in  which  a  situ- 
ation or  event  is  conceived.  No  one  who  has  observed  the  facts 
of  Vocal  Expression  can  doubt  that  there  is  some  truth  in  this. 
Let  us  see  how  the  voice  can  manifest  this  difference. 

By  the  ordinary  elocutionary  method,  the  voice  shows  these 
differences  by  representation,  or  "  imitative  modulation  " ;  but 
Vocal  Expression  is  not  primarily  a  representative  art.  Paint- 
ing can  show  the  difference  in  size,  color,  and  texture  of  objects ; 
but  Vocal  Expression  is  confined  to  an  entirely  different  and 
more  important  class  of  differences.  As  an  illustration  of  this, 
take  two  lines  from  Longfellow's  "  Building  of  the  Ship,"  and 
place  them  side  by  side  :  — 

"Sail  forth  into  the  sea,  O  Ship," 

"  Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  Ship  of  State." 


What  are  the  differences  between  these  two  ships?  They 
differ  in  size,  —  one  carrying,  say,  a  thousand  passengers,  the 
other  about  sixty  millions ;  but  the  size  is  the  smallest  difference. 
Painting  can  reveal  these  objective  differences,  —  it  can  repre- 
sent, by  means  of  light  and  shade  and  color,  a  scene  or  object 
objectively  to  the  eye.  Music  is  entirely  different.  While 
music  may  represent  or  imitate  actions  and  sounds,  this  is  not 
its  primary  aim.  Descriptive  music  is  of  a  low  order ;  it  is  apt 
to  become  ridiculous.  The  "Barn  Yard  Symphony,"  for  ex- 
ample, is  a  comical  perversion  of  the  true  use  and  aim  of  music. 
The  true  function  of  music  is  to  manifest  subjective  experience. 
Ideas  have  subjective  as  well  as  objective  differences;  they 
awaken  different  feelings  and  emotions  in  the  human  soul.  The 
two  ships  referred  to  in  Longfellow's  poem  have  more  import- 
ant differences  than  size  or  shape.     One  is  literal,  the  other  is 


MODES    OF   EXPRESSION.  53 

figurative.  The  first  ship  awakens  joy:  as  we  see  it  glide  out 
into  the  water,  we  rejoice  at  the  triumph  of  man's  power ;  but 
the  other  ship  awakens  the  nobler  emotion  of  patriotism.  One 
ship  has  its  vocation  in  commerce,  the  other  in  history ;  one  is  a 
part  of  man's  business  life,  the  other  is  a  part  of  his  deeper, 
spiritual,  national  life.  The  one  will  pass  away,  and  grow  old ; 
the  other  is  something  which  will  last  for  centuries. 

Now,  of  these  two  classes  of  ideas,  with  which  is  Vocal  Ex- 
pression more  concerned  ?  Like  music,  it  is  a  manif estive  art ; 
like  music,  it  only  represents  the  object  occasionally,  and  then 
as  an  additional  association  or  suggestion.  Vocal  Expression 
manifests  the  feeling  in  the  man  who  observes  the  object,  and 
centres  in  the  man.  The  true  function  of  Vocal  Expression, 
therefore,  is  to  manifest  the  effect  of  a  true  and  adequate  con- 
ception of  a  truth  as  directly  and  simply  as  possible.  Words 
are  symbolic,  but  the  voice  is  suggestive ;  and  when  the  voice  is 
cramped  and  strained  to  imitate  or  represent  something  object- 
ive, it  is  not  acting  in  its  highest  sphere,  and  the  result  is  arti- 
ficiality and  weakness. 

One  of  the  leading  faults  of  Vocal  ExjDression  is  that  it  is  too 
objective.  It  is  the  most  subjective  aspect  of  art.  Such  sub- 
jective differences  as  are  seen  in  the  extract  from  Longfellow, 
with  reference  to  the  three  ships,  should  be  studied  and  rendered 
with  perseverance  until  the  subjective  transitions  spontaneously 
modulate  the  voice,  and  simply,  directly,  and  truthfully  reveal 
themselves.  If  Vocal  Expression  does  not  manifest  such  differ- 
ences,—  if  it  is  made  to  represent  objective  things,  —  it  loses  its 
natural  power  to  reveal  such  subjective  differences,  and  becomes 
mere  mechanical  elocution.  Instead  of  such  an  indirect  method 
being  weak,  it  is  strongest,  because  it  manifests  the  man. 
Words  are  representative  of  ideas ;  but  tone,  except  occasion- 
ally and  suggestively,  shows  the  man  himself.  Tone  manifests 
feelings  and  exalted  ideals,  which  will  only  be  degraded  by 
representative  methods. 


54  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

In  the  four  lines  from  Scott,  No.  51,  we  have  a  true  use  of 
representative  expression.  Just  as  we  have  at  times  a  place 
for  true  descriptive  music,  so  here  we  have  a  sympathetic,  sug- 
gestive use  of  vocal  description.  This,  however,  must  never 
be  strained.  They  must  be  imaginative,  not  imitative, — the 
result  of  sympathy,  and  not  of  mechanical  copying. 

In  practicing  such  contrasts  as  were  presented  in  the  last 
lesson,  therefore,  the  student  should  not  strain  to  represent  dif- 
ferences ;  he  must,  rather,  sympathetically  identify  himself  with 
each  idea  and  situation.  The  differences  will  then  be  true,  and 
not  artificial.  They  will  be  far  more  suggestive  and  expressive, 
for  they  will  grow  out  of  the  same  heart  in  unity  and  harmony. 
Only  by  such  practice  can  contrasts  test  the  adequacy  of  con- 
ception, the  directness  and  genuineness  of  response,  and  true 
and  harmonious  abandon.  A  mechanical  and  representative 
mode  of  practice  will  vitiate  these  ends.  The  student  should 
centre  everything  in  each  successive  idea :  a  response,  and  not 
will,  must  cause  expression.  Imitation  is  volitional  and  mechan- 
ical. Assimilation  and  sympathetic  identification  alone  can 
cause  manifestation  and  spontaneous  expression. 

Problem  X.  Take  some  sublime  passage,  keep  the  point  of  view 
of  a  sympathetic  observer,  and  manifest  the  emotion  which  awak- 
ens in  response  to  it. 

50  Sail,  forth  into  the  sea,  O  ship!  through  wind  and  wave,  right 
onward  steer!  the  moistened  eye,  the  trembling  lip,  are  not  the  signs  of 
doubt  or  fear. 

Sail  forth  into  the  sea  of  life,  O  gentle,  loving,  trusting  wife,  and,  safe 
from  all  adversity,  upon  the  bosom  of  that  sea,  thy  comings  and  thy  goings 
be !  For  gentleness,  and  love,  and  trust,  prevail  o'er  angry  wave  and  gust; 
and  in  the  wreck  of  noble  lives  something  immortal  still  survives! 

Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  Ship  of  State!  sail  on,  O  Union,  strong  and 
great!  humanity,  with  all  its  fears,  with  all  the  hope  of  future  years,  is 
hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate!  We  know  what  Master  laid  thy  keel, 
what  Workmen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel,  who  made  each  mast,  and  sail, 
and  rope,  what  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat,  in  what  a  forge,  and 
what  a  heat,  were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope !    Fear  not  each  sudden 


MODES   OF   EXPRESSION.  55 

sound  and  shock:  'tis  of  the  wave,  and  not  the  rock;  'tis  but  the  flapping 
of  the  sail,  and  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale !  In  spite  of  ro  ck  and  tempest' s 
roar,  in  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore,  sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea! 
Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee,  —  our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our 
prayers,  our  tears,  our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears,  are  all  with  thee, 
are  all  with  thee. 
"  Building  of  the  Ship."  Longfellow. 

Problem  XI.  Bead  some  passage  where  the  words  represent 
certain  ideas  objectively,  but  keep  such  a  sympathetic  attitude 
that  all  objective  representation  shall  be  caused  by  a  sympathetic 
identification,  rather  than  by  any  conscious  imitation.  Let  mani- 
festation transcend  representation. 


51     Tkamp  !  tramp !  along  the  line  they  rode, 
Splash!  splash!  along  the  sea; 
The  scourge  is  wight,  the  spur  is  bright, 
The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 


Scott. 


52  November's  sky  is  chill  and  drear,  November's  leaf  is  red  and 
sear;  late,  gazing  down  the  steepy  linn,  that  hems  our  little  garden  in, 
low  in  its  dark  and  narrow  glen,  you  scarce  the  rivulet  might  ken,  so 
thick  the  tangled  greenwood  grew,  so  feeble  trill' d  the  streamlet  through. 

Now,  murmuring  hoarse,  and  frequent  seen,  through  bush  and  briar 
no  longer  green,  an  angry  brook,  it  sweeps  the  glade,  brawls  over  rock 
and  wild  cascade,  and,  foaming  brown  with  doubled  speed,  hurries  its 
waters  to  the  Tweed. 
"  Marmion."  Scott. 

53    Poems  are  painted  window  panes. 

If  one  looks  from  the  square  into  the  church, 
Dusk  and  dimness  are  his  gains ; 

Sir  Philistine  is  left  in  the  lurch! 
The  sight,  so  seen,  may  well  enrage  him, 
Nor  anything  henceforth  assuage  him. 
But  come  just  inside  what  conceals ; 

Cross  the  holy  threshold  quite ; 

All  at  once  'tis  rainbow-bright, 

Device  and  story  flash  to  light, 

A  gracious  splendor  truth  reveals. 

This  to  God's  children  is  full  measure, 

It  edifies  and  gives  you  pleasure! 

Ooethe. 


56  VOCAI,   EXPRESSION. 

64.    Hf  BLOSSOM  TIME. 
It's  O  my  heart,  my  heart,  to  be  out  in  the  sun  and  sing, 
To  sing  and  shout  in  the  fields  about,  in  the  balm  and  blossoming. 
Sing  loud,  O  bird  in  the  tree ;  O  bird  sing  loud  in  the  sky ! 
And  honey-bees,  blacken  the  clover  seas ;  there  are  none  of  you  glad  as  I 
The  leaves  laugh  low  in  the  wind,  laugh  low  with  the  wind  at  play, 
And  the  odorous  call  of  the  flowers  all  entices  my  soul  away ! 
For  O  but  the  world  is  fair,  and  O  but  the  world  is  sweet ! 
I  will  out  of  the  gold  of  the  blossoming  mold,  and  sit  at  the  Master's  feet. 
And  the  love  my  heart  would  speak,  I  will  fold  in  the  lily's  rim, 
That  the  lips  of  the  blossom,  more  pure  and  meek,  may  offer  it  up  to  him. 
Then  sing  in  the  hedgerow  green,  O  thrash,  O  skylark,  sing  in  the  blue ; 
Sing  loud,  sing  clear,  that  the  King  may  hear,  and  my  soul  shall  sing 
with  you.  Ina  Donna  Coolbreth. 


55  I  hide  in  the  solar  glory,  I  am  dumb  in  the  pealing  song,  I  rest  on 
the  pitch  of  the  torrent,  in  slumber  I  am  strong.  No  numbers  have 
counted  my  tallies,  no  tribes  my  house  can  fill,  I  sit  by  the  shining  Fount 
of  Life,  and  pour  the  deluge  still.  .  .  .  Let  war  and  trade  and  creeds  and  song 
blend,  ripen  race  on  race,  the  sunburnt  world  a  man  shall  breed  of  all  the 
zones  and  countless  days.  No  ray  is  dimmed,  no  atom  worn,  my  oldest 
force  is  good  as  new,  and  the  fresh  rose  on  yonder  thorn  gives  back  the 
bending  heavens  in  dew. 
" Song  of Nature."  Emerson. 


VII.     CHANGE   OF  PITCH. 


I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance, 

Among  my  skimming  swallows; 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeam  dance 

Against  my  sandy  shallows. 
"  The  Brook."  Tennyson. 

THE  development  of  expression  requires  objective  as  well  as 
subjective  study.  Every  art  must  have  a  technique:  to 
improve  any  form  of  art  we  must  not  only  stimulate  the  cause, 
but  also  secure  better  control  of  those  actions  by  means  of  which 
the  idea  is  expressed.  Execution  in  Vocal  Expression  must  be 
founded  upon  the  study  of  conversation.     Every  art  must  be 


CHANGE    OF    PITCH.  57 

based  on  the  study  of  nature,  and  the  natural  form,  upon  which 
Vocal  Expression  rests,  is  the  unfettered  utterance  of  men  in 
eveiy-day  intercourse. 

If  we  observe  one  talking,  what  are  the  most  salient  charac- 
teristics ?  Let  us  compare  him  with  some  person  reading,  and 
note  the  difference.  One  of  the  first  things  we  discover  in  con- 
versation is  variety :  the  voice  leaps  upward  and  downward  with 
perfect  freedom,  —  there  are  no  two  words  upon  the  same  pitch ; 
while  with  the  reader  words  tend  to  follow  each  other  on  one 
pitch ;  all  is  monotonous.  The  causes  of  these  changes  of  pitch 
are  about  the  same  as  those  which  make  the  branch  of  a  tree,  or 
a  leaf  upon  that  branch,  grow  in  a  given  direction :  wherever 
there  is  life,  it  will  seek  outflow  in  the  most  unhindered  direc- 
tion. Life,  like  water,  will  flow  into  the  most  open  channel. 
Monotony  is  death. 

Expression  is  simply  a  change,  —  a  change  of  voice  and  body, 
caused  by  some  change  of  thought  or  feeling.  If  you  are  watch- 
ing a  rider  dashing  along  at  full  speed,  and  suddenly  you  see 
him  fall,  will  you  spring  forward  or  recoil  ?  This  will  depend 
entirely  on  your  state  of  mind,  and  the  attitude  of  your  body  in 
observing  him.  If  you  have  been  leaning  forward,  earnestly 
watching  him,  }-ou  will  be  sure  to  recoil ;  and  there  is  no  better 
reason  than  simply  the  fact  that  you  were  forward,  and  the 
change  in  the  mind  calls  for  a  change  in  the  body.  A  reversal 
of  feeling  causes  a  reversal  of  attitude.  On  the  contrary,  if  you 
were  standing  calmly  on  the  back  foot,  looking  at  him,  con- 
fidently or  reposefully,  such  an  accident  would  cause  you  to 
move  forward.  In  the  same  way,  if  one  idea  happens  to  be 
expressed  on  one  pitch,  another  idea,  antithetic  to  the  preceding, 
is  instinctively  contrasted  to  it  in  pitch.  The  focussing  of  the 
mind  upon  successive  ideas,  or  the  quick  leap  of  the  mind  in 
thinking,  spontaneously  causes  a  leap  of  the  voice.  This  instinct 
is  universal.  The  only  exception  is  an  apparent  one  in  the  case 
of  deaf  mutes ;  but  the  reason  why  they  do  not  vary  the  pitch  is 


58  VOCAL   EXPRESSION". 

the  fact  that  they  have  been  taught  to  speak  objectively,  and 
the  mind  is  in  a  mechanical  attitude.  The  making  of  tone  with 
them  is  not  the  spontaneous  expression  of  the  action  of  their 
minds.  Where  this  is  not  the  case,  the  same  results  follow  as  in 
other  jjeople.  The  length  and  direction,  therefore,  of  the  change 
of  pitch  are  due  to  the  degree  of  animation,  the  imaginative 
conditions,  and  the  discriminations  and  associations  of  ideas.  No 
rule  can  be  made  to  govern  them.  The  voice  is  the  most  direct 
and  flexible  agent  of  the  mind :  a  word  must  be  deliberatively 
chosen,  but  a  change  of  pitch  is  spontaneous.  Verbal  Expression 
is  symbolic,  but  the  modulation  of  tone  is  significant ;  it  is  not  a 
symbol,  but  a  sign. 

Of  all  rules,  the  worst  are  those  for  the  regulation  of  changes 
of  pitch.  Here  are  two  of  them :  "  Joy,  high  pitch ;  sorrow, 
low  pitch."  These  are  absolutely  false.  The  human  being  gives 
joy  in  all  pitches,  and  sorrow  is  expressed  in  the  higher  parts,  as 
well  as  the  lower  parts  of  the  voice.  To  follow  such  mechanical 
rules  as  these  causes  the  man  to  be  mechanical,  and  introduces 
the  worst  of  faults,  —  monotony.  These  are  rules  based  on  the 
most  superficial  observation.  A  better  explanation  is  this, — 
uncontrolled  emotion  tends  to  high  pitch,  intense,  controlled 
emotion  of  any  kind  tends  to  a  low  pitch ;  but  even  this  only 
applies  occasionally,  and  cannot  be  given  as  a  rule.  The  great 
point  in  practice  is  not  so  much  the  direction  or  the  length  of 
the  change  of  pitch,  as  the  fact  that  there,,  shall  be  some  change 
of  pitch.  This  is  one  of  the  places  where  so  long  as  the  mind 
holds  firmly  to  an  idea,  a  mistake  is  impossible. 

In  developing  expression,  there  must  be  no  aim  at  variety  for 
the  sake  of  variety ;  it  must  be  for  the  sake  of  unity.  Still,  in 
change  of  pitch,  the  greater  the  variety  —  so  long  as  the  mind  is 
kept  f ocussed  —  the  greater  the  unity.  "  Extension  in  opposition 
strengthens  possession,"  and  any  extension  of  range,  or  modula- 
tion of  the  voice,  reveals  more  clearly  the  continuity  of  thought. 
A  monotonous  stream  of  words  gives  us  no  impression  of  thought, 


CHANGE    OF   PITCH.  59 

. —  we  only  think  of  the  words  as  in  proof-reading ;  but  when 
the  mind  really  thinks  in  a  sequence,  the  successive  ideas  are 
revealed  by  the  modulation  of  the  voice.  We  find,  in  fact,  in 
all  art,  that  there  is  a  vital  relation  between  unity  and  variety. 

Legitimate  variety  is  necessary  to  the  perception  of  unity. 
Variety  for  the  sake  of  change  is  chaos,  and  mere  sameness  is 
not  unity,  but  monotony.  True  unity,  therefore,  implies  variety. 
Unity  is  the  relation  of  all  parts  to  one  centre,  and  this  subordi- 
nation of  parts  brings  them  into  opposition,  which  brings  the 
greatest  possible  variation.  The  two  hands,  for  example,  are  the 
most  unlike  of  any  two  things  to  be  found  in  nature,  and  yet 
they  are  also  most  like.  To  their  great  dissimilarity  and  similarity 
is  due  the  possibility  of  their  unity  and  co-operation.  Hand  can 
fold  upon  hand,  thumb  can  touch  thumb,  and  finger,  finger, 
because  the  two  hands  are  directly  opposite. 

There  are  two  great  faults  in  Vocal  Expression,  —  monotony 
and  chaos.  Strange  to  say,  they  go  together.  "When  a  monot- 
onous speaker  becomes  earnest,  his  voice  changes  pitch  in  the 
most  surprising  and  unnatural  places.  This  is  a  characteristic 
fault  of  ranters  and  demagogues,  and  often  results  where  the 
energy  and  earnestness  is  put  on  from  without,  and  is  not  in- 
herent in  the  thinking.  One  of  the  most  curious  facts  is  that 
while  intervals  are  so  natural,  they  are  the  first  element  which 
is  lost  in  expression.  Monotony  is  not  only  the  first  of  all 
faults,  but  it  is  an  element  of  all  other  faults.  Whenever  a 
speaker  or  a  reader  feels  confused,  or  when  the  mind  grasps  a 
stream  of  ideas,  and  endeavors  to  give  them  to  men,  the  result 
is  monotony.  This  is  probably  due  to  the  fact  that  the  man 
does  not  reproduce  naturally  the  sequence  of  ideas ;  he  does  not 
have  progressive  transition  in  his  thinking  from  idea  to  idea; 
he  tries  to  wholesale  his  ideas,  or  his  consciousness  is  too  much 
upon  the  words,  —  the  rhythmic  action  of  his  mind  is  interfered 
with  in  some  way.     The  monotony  is  a  natural  result. 

Hence,  attention  and  abandon,  when  properly  practised,  show 


60  VOCAL   EXPRESSION". 

at  once  an  effect  upon  the  flexibility  and  range  of  the  voice  in 
speaking.  So  long  as  we  positively  think  progressively,  giving 
ourselves  to  each  successive  idea,  allowing  our  words  and  tones 
to  be  the  direct  outcome  of  the  action  of  the  mind,  we  can 
hardly  go  wrong  in  change  of  pitch.  The  number  of  intervals 
will  multiply  in  proportion  to  the  genuineness  of  the  thinking. 
Therefore,  without  regard  to  the  more  complex  principles  of 
inflection,  which  will  be  explained  later,  let  us  take  one  of  the 
simplest  extracts,  full  of  joy  and  animation ;  let  us  note  in  what 
an  infinite  variety  of  ways  we  can  read  it  correctly  :  — 


56    O  Larks,  sing  out  to  the  thrushes, 
And  thrushes,  sing  to  the  sky! 
Sing  from  your  nests  in  the  bushes, 
And  sing  wherever  you  fly. 


Of  these  four  fines,  we  can  give  the  first  two  words  very  low, 
and  the  next  five  high  ;  or  the  first  two  high,  and  the  next  low ; 
and  so  on  through  the  whole.  There  are  a  dozen  ways  in  which 
the  extract  can  be  read  effectively.  The  law  of  association  of 
ideas,  the  difference  of  personalities,  the  occasion,  and  many 
other  causes  will  produce  such  differences  ;  but  we  can  see  that 
some  such  variation  is  necessary.  The  thought  and  the  feeling 
must  directly  dominate  the  voice.  This  animated  change  of  pitch 
is  natural,  and  is  always  present  in  spontaneous  conversation. 

In  practising  for  change  of  pitch,  the  student  will  at  first  feel 
great  rebellion;  hence  it  is  important  for  him  to  take  such 
simple  extracts  as  are  here  laid  down,  and  read  them  in  many 
ways.  Let  him  be  careful  only  of  one  thing,  —  that  the  voice 
leaps  with  the  mind.  Let  him  endeavor  to  paint  a  picture  in  his 
mind  in  one  place,  and  the  next  picture  in  another ;  and  at  the 
same  time  allow  his  voice  to  vary  sjDontaneously  with  his  mind. 
Where  bad  habits  have  been  formed  in  reading,  he  may  at  first 
deliberately  make  himself  read  one  phrase  low,  another  high, 
another  in  the  middle  of  his  voice,  —  and  so  on  at  random. 


CHANGE    OF    PITCH.  61 

Then  go  over  it  in  an  entirely  different  way,  until  his  mind  and 
his  voice,  so  to  speak,  come  to  realize  their  own  freedom.  The 
changes  of  pitch,  however,  must  be  between  words,  as  well  as 
between  clauses. 

Problem  XII.  Realize  the  successive  ideas  in  some  animated 
passage  so  vividly  that  there  will  be  awakened  a  spontaneous 
desire  for  variation  in  the  sequence  of  ideas,  which  will  also  cause 
the  voice  to  change  in  pitch. 

57     "  Away  to  the  hills,  to  the  caves,  to  the  rocks,  — 

Ere  I  own  a  usurper,  I'll  couch  with  the  fox; 

And  tremble,  false  whigs,  in  the  midst  of  your  glee, 

You  have  not  seen  the  last  of  my  bonnet  and  me." 

Scott. 

58  Stkaight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures  whilst  the  land- 
scape round  it  measures:  russet  lawns,  and  fallows  gray,  where  the 
nibbling  flocks  do  stray;  mountains,  on  whose  barren  breast  the  labor- 
ing clouds  do  often  rest ;  meadows  trim  with  daisies  pied,  shallow  brooks, 
and  rivers  wide;  —  towers  and  battlements  it  sees,  bosom' d  high  in  tufted 
trees,  where  perhaps  some  Beauty  lies,  the  Cynosure  of  neighbouring  eyes. 

Milton. 

59.    DAFFODILS. 

Fair  Daffodils,  we  weep  to  see  you  haste  away  so  soon:  as  yet  the 
early  rising  Sun  has  not  attain'd  his  noon.  Stay,  stay,  until  the  hasting 
day  has  run  but  to  the  even-song;  and,  having  pray'd  together,  we  will 
go  with  you  along. 

We  have  short  time  to  stay  as  you,  we  have  as  short  a  Spring;  as 

quick  a  growth  to  meet  decay  as  you,  or  any  thing.     We  die,  as  your 

hours  do,  and  dry  away  like  to  the  Summer's  rain ;  or  as  the  pearls  of 

morning's  dew,  ne'er  to  be  found  again. 

Herrick. 


60    The  rose  is  weeping  for  her  love,  the  nightingale; 
And  he  is  flying  fast  above,  to  her  he  will  not  fail. 
Already  golden  eve  appears,  he  wings  his  way  along ; 
Ahl  look,  he  comes  to- kiss  her  tears,  and  soothe  her  with  his  song. 
The  moon  in  pearly  light  may  steep  the  still  blue  air; 
The  rose  hath  ceased  to  droop  and  weep,  for  lo !  her  joy  is  there. 
He  sings  to  her,  and  o'er  the  trees  she  hears  his  sweet  notes  swim; 
The  world  may  weary,  —  she  but  hears  her  love,  and  hears  but  him. 

Bailey. 


62  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

VIII,    PAUSING 


61     Such  a  starved  bank  of  moss  till,  that  May  morn, 
Blue  ran  the  flash  across :  violets  were  born ! 
Sky — what  a  scowl  of  cloud  till,  near  and  far, 
Ray  on  ray  split  the  shroud:  splendid,  a  star! 
World  —  how  it  walled  about  life  with  disgrace 
Till  God's  own  smile  came  out:  that  was  thy  face! 
Prologue,  "  The  Two  Poets  of  the  Croisic."  Browning. 

TF  we  take  this  little  poem,  and  allow  mind  and  voice  to  drift, 
-*-  then  read  it  a  second  time,  really  thinking  each  idea,  and 
associating  it  with  the  next,  what  will  be  the  difference  between 
the  two  modes  of  reading  ?  One  difference  will  be  few  pauses 
in  the  first,  and  a  great  many  pauses  in  the  second. 

Further  study  of  the  characteristics  of  conversation  reveals 
not  only  changes  of  pitch,  but  pauses.  The  variation  of  the 
voice  in  conversation  is  due  as  much  to  intervals  of  time  as  to 
intervals  of  pitch.  Pause  is  among  the  fundamental  character- 
istics of  naturalness.  Whenever  anyone  speaks  in  a  continuous 
stream  of  words,  no  matter  how  brilliant  his  ideas,  or  how  beau- 
tiful his  phrases,  he  is  tedious  and  tiresome  in  the  extreme.  For, 
paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  continuity  of  words  destroys  con- 
tinuity of  thought ;  continuity  of  thought  necessitates  pauses  in 
words.  "  Silence  is  the  father  of  speech  ;  "  thought  must  have 
"  its  silent  undergrowth,"  before  it  can  utter  itself  in  words. 

Intervals  of  silence  thus  show  the  genuineness  of  thinking.  A 
pause  preceding  a  word,  or  phrase,  shows  it  to  be  the  effect  or 
sign  of  mental  action.  As  the  mind  thinks  by  pulsation,  by 
rhythmic  leaps,  by  action  and  re-action,  so  speech  must  have  the 
same  characteristics.  The  length  and  frequency  of  pauses  shows 
the  intensity  of  thinking.  As  the  mind,  in  superficial  thinking, 
drifts,  and  is  not  focussed  intensely  and  for  a  long  time  upon 
successive  ideas,  so  the  expression  of  such  thinking  reveals  no 
staying  of  the  mind  by  cessations  and  interruptions  of  the  stream 
of  words,  nor  any  change  of  pitch.     On  the  contrary,  where  the 


PAUSING.  63 

thinking  is  intense,  where  the  mind  wrestles  to  comprehend  the 
greatness  of  an  idea,  the  fact  of  such  mental  struggle  is  revealed 
by  a  pause. 

Pause  and  change  of  pitch  are  closely  related  to  each  other. 
The  pause  justifies  or  causes  the  change  of  pitch.  As  pause 
shows  the  mind  creating  its  conception,  so  the  change  of  pitch 
reveals  the  result.  In  proportion  as  the  mind  has  created  a  new 
conception,  or  gained  a  new  outlook,  will  the  voice  indicate 
spontaneously  the  mental  change  by  change  of  pitch. 

A  pause  is  not  a  mechanical  thing.  Neither  the  place  where 
it  is  to  be  made,  nor  its  length,  can  be  measured  by  artificial 
rules.  A  pause  is  not  a  mere  interval  of  time.  There  is,  in  fact, 
great  difference  between  a  hesitation  and  a  pause  :  hesitation  is 
mechanical,  —  it  is  the  result  of  a  lapse  of  memory,  or  of  not 
understanding  a  word  or  a  thought ;  a  pause,  on  the  contrary,  is 
due  to  the  endeavor  of  the  mind  to  conceive  more  truly,  to 
realize  more  adequately  the  weight  or  relations  of  the  idea.  A 
hesitation  is  never  agreeable,  because  it  shows  a  gap  in  the 
thought,  while  a  proper  use  of  pauses  is  most  pleasing  because 
it  shows  a  deeper  continuity,  a  broader  realization  of  truth. 
Hesitation  rarely  causes  change  of  pitch,  while  a  true  pause 
is  always  associated  with  a  change  in  pitch.  This  fact  is  very 
important.  Whatever  test  causes  a  realization  of  the  difference 
between  a  pause  and  a  hesitation,  is  of  great  importance  in 
training. 

A  genuine  pause  is  the  result  of  thinking  along  the  line  of  the 
subject,  thinking  which  is  more  or  less  common  between  the 
speaker  and  the  hearer.  It  shows  that  the  speaker  weighs  and 
considers  the  idea :  hence,  pause  accompanies  all  other  forms  of 
emphasis.  "  Speech  is  silvern,  silence  is  golden ; "  but  silence  to 
be  golden  in  expression  must  be  shown  to  be  due  to  the  domi- 
nation of  an  idea. 

Even  a  hesitation  for  a  word  may  be  made  a  means  of  uniting 
the  mental  action  of  the  speaker  and  his  hearers,  and  thus  be 


64  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

made  an  element  of  power.  A  speaker  may  even,  as  old  Fal- 
staff  said,  "  turn  his  diseases  into  a  commodity."  It  is  said  that 
Daniel  Webster,  in  Faneuil  Hall,  once  gave  a  certain  word  for 
an  idea,  but  it  did  not  satisfy  him :  he  hesitated,  and  gave 
another,  —  hesitated  again,  and  gave  still  another;  —  and  when, 
after  four  or  five  trials,  he  found  the  adequate  word,  the  audi- 
ence broke  forth  into  applause.  The  fact  is,  he  thus  showed 
himself  to  be  a  great  orator.  He  united  the  action  of  the  minds 
of  his  auditors  to  his  own ;  both  labored  together  for  a  grander 
and  more  adequate  conception  of  the  idea,  as  well  as  for  its 
highest  expression.  In  conversation,  the  words  are  few,  and  the 
pauses  many.  The  art  of  reading  aloud  is  the  art  of  turning 
cold,  monotonous  print  into  the  living  movement  of  conversa- 
tion. In  conversation,  the  speaker  constantly  pauses,  and  the 
hearer  shares  the  effort  of  the  thinker.  The  hearer  does  not  feel 
that  he  is  called  upon  to  accept  something  that  has  already  been 
thought  out  and  stated ;  he  is  brought  into  sympathy  with  a 
creative  act  of  the  mind,  and  realizes  the  joy  of  discovering 
ideas.  The  grandest  ideas  cannot  be  adequately  expressed  in 
words.  True  vocal  expression  must  suggest  the  transcendency 
of  an  idea,  or  thought,  over  words.  Hence,  the  truest  vocal 
expression  reveals  rather  the  effort  of  the  mind  to  receive  than 
its  action  in  giving. 

This  is  the  peculiar  function  of  the  pause  in  Vocal  Expression. 
It  shows  that  the  mind  receives  the  idea  before  giving  it,  that 
"  impression  precedes  expression  ; "  while  the  change  of  pitch,  and 
other  vocal  modulations,  show  that  the  impression  determines 
the  expression.  There  is  a  partial  proof  of  this  in  the  fact  that 
in  simple  prose  the  discussion  of  abstract  and  general  ideas 
requires  few  pauses,  while  dramatic  poetry  —  or  composition 
of  any  kind,  where  there  are  more  complex  conceptions  back  of 
the  words  —  requires  more  and  longer  pauses  in  expression. 

Again,  it  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  writers  like  Carlyle  and 
Browning,  whose  ideas  and  conceptions  transcend  their  words, 


i 


PAUSING.  65 

require  more  pauses  than  writers  who  have  a  smooth  flow  of 
words,  with  less  depth  of  thought  and  grandeur  of  conception. 
All  authors  who  are  suggestive,  who  appeal  to  the  imaginative 
insight,  who,  in  short,  suggest  a  great  deal  beyond  the  words, 
require  many  pauses  in  expression. 

Still  another  point  regarding  pauses,  is  that  when  a  man  reads 
that  with  which  he  is  not  familiar,  he  makes  fewer  pauses  than 
when  he  reads  that  which  is  perfectly  familiar  to  him.  The 
reason  for  this  curious  fact  is  that  in  the  first  place  he  merely 
calls  the  words,  and  gets  the  ideas  after  he  has  pronounced 
them,  while  in  the  other  case  he  reproduces  and  re-creates  the 
successive  ideas.  The  attitude  of  the  mind  in  the  first  instance 
does  not  change  with  the  thought,  —  the  eye  simply  takes,  and 
the  voice  pronounces  the  words,  the  mind  following  after;  but 
in  true  expressive  reading,  the  mind  takes  an  idea  before  it  gives 
it,  and  this  necessitates  pause.  Pauses  are  always  present  when  a 
man  is  natural,  or  when  he  conceives  each  idea  at  the  instant 
before  he  conveys  it. 

When  a  student  is  asked  to  read  or  to  speak,  he  is  afraid  to 
make  pauses;  the  reason  for  this  is  a  fear  of  being  tedious. 
Tediousness  is  the  one  thing  of  which  all  are  afraid.  All  feel 
that  hesitation  is  a  primary  source  of  tediousness ;  forgetting 
that  an  empty  flow  of  words  also  causes  tediousness.  The  true 
remedy  for  tediousness  is  genuine  thinking,  and  the  power  to 
use  silence  in  such  a  way  as  to  unite  the  thinking  of  other  minds 
with  that  of  our  own. 

The  importance  of  pauses,  therefore,  is  due  to  the  fact  that 
they  show  the  creative  action  of  the  mind ;  that  they  show  the 
rhythmic  progression  of  thinking ;  that  they  are  the  revelation 
of  subjective  attention,- or  the  successive  focussing  of  the  mind 
upon  central  ideas,  and  the  domination  of  other  minds  to  think 
in  the  same  sequence ;  that  they  show  the  cause  and  effect  in 
conversation,  and  thus  are  characteristic  of  spontaneity  and 
naturalness ;  that  they  make  words  more  suggestive,  by  revealing 
5 


66  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

ideas  as  transcendent  over  signs  or  words ;  and,  lastly,  that  they 
reveal  depth  of  feeling  and  passion. 

One  of  the  first  steps,  therefore,  in  Expression,  is  to  become 
conscious  of  the  significance  of  the  pause ;  to  become  willing  to 
allow  silence  to  mingle  with  our  speech ;  to  recognize  that  if 
"  speech  is  a  jewel,  silence  must  form  its  setting."  The  highest 
art  of  expression  is  to  reveal  the  receptive  activity  of  the  mind, 
and  without  the  pause  this  cannot  be  done.  While  Expression 
may  seem  to  be  the  giving  of  thought,  yet  it  must  be  remembered 
that  ideas  and  emotions  cannot  be  given  as  objective  things. 
They  can  only  be  evoked  and  drawn  out.  Hence,  the  energy  of 
the  mind  in  taking  an  idea  must  be  shown  much  more  than  its 
action  in  giving.  Possession  of  life  implies  manifestation  ;  and 
since  pauses  reveal  the  life  of  the  mind  in  receiving  impressions, 
all  Vocal  Expression  will  centre  in  their  use. 

Each  idea  must  be  discovered.  It  must  spring  up  spontane- 
ously before  speaking  the  words,  —  and  this  takes  place  during 
a  pause.  Take  this  simple  extract,  and  note  the  effect  of  really 
thinking  each  idea.  After  each  phrase,  we  find  ourselves 
pausing,  and,  if  we  wish  to  make  the  extract  emphatic,  almost 
mentally  asking  questions : 

62    Eveey  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might, 

An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers, 
And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light, 

Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers.  Lowell. 


"Every  clod"  (what  about  it?  answer:)  "feels  a  stir  of 
might,"  (nay, even  more,)  "an  instinct  within  it,"  (what  of  it?) 
"  that  reaches  and  towers,  and  "  (something  else  more  beautiful) 
"  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light,"  (and  something  still  more 
wonderf ul)  "  climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers."  Of  course, 
it  is  impossible  to  interpret  in  words  the  process  of  thought,  and 
even  if  it  were  possible,  no  one  analysis  would  be  universal,  as 
every  mind  acts  in  a  different  way. 


PAUSING.  67 

This  silent  thinking,  or  the  process  of  relation  and  discovery, 
is  of  fundamental  importance  in  Vocal  Expression.  The  silence 
must  speak.  A  pause  is  not  vacuity,  —  an  interval  is  a  pause 
because  it  is  full  of  thought.  The  author's  thought  or  feeling 
can  only  be  suggested ;  the  words  must  bear  a  sympathetic  re- 
lation to  the  deep  continuity  of  ideas  in  the  soul,  by  the  signifi- 
cance of  silence.* 

Problem  XIII.  Read  some  passage,  taking  time  to  realize  in- 
tensively each  successive  idea  before  giving  it  expression,  and  so 
vary  the  pitch  and  other  modulations  of  the  voice  as  to  show  that 
the  period  of  silence  was  necessary  on  account  of  this  mental 
activity.  

63    Speech  is  but  broken  ligbt  upon  tbe  depth 

Of  tbe  unspoken ;  even  your  loved  words 

Float  in  tbe  larger  meaning  of  your  voice 

As  something  dimmer. 

George  Eliot. 


64    Pkaise  always  surprises  and  humbles  true  genius;  tbe  shadow 
of  earth  comes  then  between  them  and  their  starry  ideal  with  a  cold  and 
dark'eclipse. 
"  Conversations."  Lowell. 

65,    PADRE  PUGNACCIO. 

Up  the  steps  of  the  dome  of  Saint  Peter's,  between  two  penitents 
wrapped  in  mantillas,  his  head  out  of  his  hood,  walked  Padre  Pugnaccio. 
The  bells  were  quarrelling  in  the  clouds. 

One  of  the  penitents,  the  aunt,  counted  an  Ave  for  each  bead  of  her 
rosary;  and  the  other,  tbe  niece,  ogled  from  the  corner  of  her  eyes  a 
handsome  officer  of  the  Pope's  guard.  The  monk  muttered  to  the  old 
woman,  "Make  a  donation  to  my  convent;"  and  the  officer  slipped  a 
perfumed  note  into  the  young  girl's  hand. 

The  sinner  wiped  a  few  tears  from  her  eyes;  the  maiden  blushed  with 
pleasure ;  the  monk  was  calculating  the  interest  of  a  thousand  piastres  at 
twelve  per  cent;  and  the.officer  was  gazing  at  himself  in  a  hand-mirror, 
and  curling  the  tips  of  his  mustachios. 

And  the  devil,  squatting  in  the  loose  sleeve  of  Padre  Pugnaccio,  chuc- 
kled like  Pulcinello.  -&«"*  Bertrand. 

♦See  Classics,  pp.  17,  41, 172,  361. 


68  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

66    The  hills, 
Rock-ribbed,  and  ancient  as  the  sun ;  the  vales 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between; 
The  venerable  woods ;  rivers  that  move 
In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks, 
That  make  the  meadows  green ;  and,  poured  round  all, 
Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste, — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man!  Bryant. 


67.     THE  HYMN  ON  THE  NATIVITY. 

It  was  the  winter  wild,  while  the  heaven-born  Child,  all  meanly  wrapt, 
in  the  rude  manger  lies;  nature  in  awe  to  him  had  doff' d  her  gaudy  trim, 
with  her  great  Master  so  to  sympathize:  it  was  no  season  then  for  her  to 
wanton  with  the  sun,  her  lusty  paramour.  No  war,  or  battle's  sound 
was  heard  the  world  around:  the  idle  spear  and  shield  were  high  up 
hung ;  the  hooked  chariot  stood  unstained  with  hostile  blood ;  the  trump- 
et spake  not  to  the  armed  throng;  and  kings  sat  still  with  awful  eye,  as 
if  they  surely  knew  their  sovran  Lord  was  by.  But  peaceful  was  the 
night  wherein  the  Prince  of  Light  his  reign  of  peace  upon  the  earth 
began:  the  winds,  with  wonder  whist,  smoothly  the  waters  kist,  whisper- 
ing new  joys  to  the  wild  ocean  —  who  now  hath  quite  forgot  to  rave, 
while  birds  of  calm  sit  brooding  on  the  charmed  wave.  The  stars,  with 
deep  amaze,  stand  fix'd  in  steadfast  gaze,  bending  one  way  their  precious 
influence;  and  will  not  take  their  flight  for  all  the  morning  light,  or 
Lucifer  that  often  warn'd  them  thence;  but  in  their  glimmering  orbs  did 
glow  until  their  Lord  himself  bespake,  and  bid  them  go.  The  shepherds, 
on  the  lawn,  or  ere  the  point  of  dawn,  sate  simply  chatting  in  a  rustic  row; 
full  little  thought  they  then  that  the  mighty  Pan  was  kindly  come  to 
live  with  them  below;  perhaps  their  loves,  or  else  their  sheep,  was  all 
that  did  their  silly  thoughts  so  busy  keep.  When  such  music  sweet 
their  hearts  and  ears  did  greet  as  never  was  by  mortal  finger  strook  — 
divinely-warbled  voice  answering  the  stringe'd  noise,  as  all  their  souls  in 
blissful  rapture  took:  the  air,  such  pleasure  loth  to  lose,  with  thousand 
echoes  still  prolongs  each  heavenly  close.  Ring  out,  ye  crystal  spheres! 
once  bless  our  human  ears,  if  ye  have  power  to  touch  our  senses  so ;  and 
let  your  silver  chime  move  in  melodious  time ;  and  let  the  base  of  heaven's 
deep  organ  blow ;  and  with  your  ninefold  harmony  make  up  full  concert 
to  angelic  symphony! 

Milton. 


EDUCATION   OF    THE   EYE.  69 

68  And  how  did  Garrick  speak  the  soliloquy  last  night?  Oh,  against 
all  role,  my  lord,  most  ungrammatically!  betwixt  the  substantive  and  the 
adjective,  which  should  agree  together  in  number,  case,  and  gender,  he 
made  a  breach  thus,  —  stopping  as  if  the  point  wanted  settling;  —  and 
betwixt  the  nominative  case,  which  your  lordship  knows  should  govern 
the  verb,  he  suspended  his  voice  in  the  epilogue  a  dozen  times,  three 
seconds  and  three-fifths  by  a  stop  watch,  my  lord,  each  time.  But  in 
suspending  his  voice,  — was  the  sense  suspended  likewise?  did  no  expres- 
sion of  attitude  or  countenance  fill  up  the  chasm?  —  Was  the  eye  silent? 
Did  you  narrowly  look?  —  I  look'd  only  at  the  stop-watch,  my  lord. 

And  did  you  step  in  to  take  a  look  at  the  grand  picture  on  your  way 
back? — 'Tis  a  melancholy  daub!  my  lord;  not  one  principle  of  the 
pyramid  in  any  one  group!  —  and  what  a  price!  —  for  there  is  nothing 
of  the  colouring  of  Titian  —  the  expression  of  Kubens  —  the  grace  of 
Kaphael  —  the  purity  of  Dominichino  —  the  corregiescity  of  Corregio  — 
the  learning  of  Poussin  —  the  airs  of  Guido  —  or  the  grand  contour  of 
Angelo. 

Grant  me  patience,  just  Heaven !  Of  all  the  cants  which  are  canted 
in  this  canting  world,  —  though  the  cant  of  hypocrisy  may  be  the  worst, 
— the  cant  of  criticism  is  the  most  tormenting! 

I  would  go  fifty  miles,  on  foot,  to  kiss  the  hand  of  that  man,  whose 
generous  heart  will  give  up  the  reins  of  his  imagination  into  his  author's 
hands — be  pleased  he  knows  not  why,  and  cares  not  wherefore. 

Laurence  Sterne. 


IX.    EDUCATION  OF  THE  EYE. 


69    Nothing  small !  no  lily-muffled  hum  of  a  summer-bee,  but  finds 

some  coupling  with  the  shining  stars ;  no  pebble  at  your  feet  but  proves 

a  sphere;  no  chaffinch,  but  implies  the  cherubim.   Earth's  crammed  with 

heaven,  and  every  common  bush  afire  with  God. 

Mrs.  Browning. 


npHERE  are  two  distinct  forms  of  reading :  silent  or  receptive 
•*-  reading,  and  expressive  reading,  or  reading  aloud.  Silent 
or  receptive  reading  implies  merely  the  act  of  receiving  ideas,  or 
of  taking  ideas  from  a  printed  page  by  the  reader;  no  other 
mind  is  concerned.  To  read  aloud  is  to  convey  an  impression, 
or  a  possession  which  is  in  the  reader's  mind,  to  the  mind  of 
another.     The  development  of  expression  and  reading  implies 


70  VOCAL  EXPBESSION. 

both  of  these  acts ;  for  reading  aloud  implies  receptive  reading. 
There  can  be  no  expression  without  impression. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  two  must  not  be  confused.  What  a 
violation  it  is  of  all  the  principles  so  far  discovered  and  discussed, 
to  have  a  child  merely  pronounce  words  as  a  means  of  training 
him  to  read  aloud,  while  his  mental  action  is  almost  entirely 
ignored !  Of  course,  pronounciation  must  receive  attention,  but 
is  it  well  to  do  this  as  a  part  of  reading  aloud  ?  Does  it  not 
belong  to  spelling,  or  to  conversation?  Can  it  not  be  done 
better  while  talking  ?  Should  a  child  be  taught  to  pronounce 
words  before  he  understands  their  meaning  ?  In  fact,  one  of  the 
chief  requisites  for  both  receptive  and  expressive  reading  must 
be  familiarity  with  words.  There  can  be  no  reading  for  the 
reception  of  ideas,  unless  the  words  are  more  or  less  familiar; 
and  to  give  expression  to  the  same  ideas,  there  is  needed  a  much 
greater  familiarity  with  words. 

Reading,  or  the  reception  of  ideas,  must  always  be  trained 
before  there  can  be  any  expressive  reading.  The  reception  of 
ideas  must  precede  the  expression  of  ideas;  hence  we  can  see 
that,  preceding  all  expressive  reading,  some  disciplining  of  the 
eye  is  necessary.  That  is  to  say,  the  eye  must  be  trained  to  grasp 
a  group  of  words,  —  the  mind  to  conceive  the  idea  beneath  them. 
Of  course,  it  is  not  so  much  a  training  of  the  eye,  as  it  is  of  the 
mind  through  the  eye ;  but  the  organ  and  the  agency  concerned 
are  most  intimately  connected.  The  development  of  the  power 
of  the  eye,  to  perceive  ideas  through  words  quickly,  must  be 
developed  through  silent  reading. 

The  action  of  the  eye  in  silent  reading  is  not  the  same  as  in 
reading  aloud;  the  eye  in  silent  reading  merely  catches  the 
meaning  beneath  the  words,  and  is  thus  more  or  less  continuous ; 
the  eye  in  reading  aloud  takes  a  group  of  words,  and  then  be- 
comes quiescent  as  the  mind  conceives  the  idea,  and  while  these 
are  spoken; — then  grasps  another  group,  and  so  on.  The  eye 
may  do  this  in  silent  reading,  but  this  rhythmic   succession  is 


EDUCATION   OF   THE   EYE.  71 

more  accentuated  in  reading  aloud.  The  child  must  first  take  a 
group  of  words,  then  speak  them  so  as  to  give  the  meaning ; 
take  another  group  of  words,  and  express  the  meaning  of  that. 
There  is  a  great  temptation  to  call  words  singly,  and  not  by 
groups,  according  to  the  rhythmic  pulsations  of  the  thought . 

The  education  of  the  eye  is  most  important.  Daniel  Webster 
laid  his  manuscript  before  him,  and  then  endeavored  to  catch 
enough  by  his  eye  to  speak  while  he  walked  several  steps.  In 
this  way  he  trained  his  eye  to  catch  successive  groups  of  words, 
go  that  when  he  spoke  he  could  give  his  eye  to  his  audience. 
He  was  thus  enabled  to  speak  his  words  as  if  they  were  extem- 
poraneous,—  he  was  never  confined  to  his  manuscript.  This 
should  be  true  of  all  good  reading.  The  student  must  be  trained 
to  take  a  group  of  words  with  his  eye,  while  the  mind  conceives 
the  idea  beneath  them,  and  its  relation  to  the  thought,  and  then 
to  speak  the  words.  The  mind  must  act  between  the  eye  and 
the  expression. 

Accordingly,  reading  aloud  is  slower  than  silent  reading, 
because  of  this  additional  process  which  takes  place  during 
pauses.  The  mental  action  is  only  receptive  in  silent  reading, 
but  in  reading  aloud  there  is  also  an  endeavor  to  make  salient 
the  fundamental  points  in  the  current  of  ideas,  so  as  to  make 
them  clear  to  other  minds.  We  must,  therefore,  train  the  mind 
and  the  eye  to  act  together,  so  that  the  mind,  the  eye,  and  the 
voice,  will  act  in  proper  order.  The  eye  must  see  like  a  flash, 
while  the  mind  creates  the  pictures,  and  then  the  voice  can  speak. 

One  great  temptation  is  to  read  in  a  continuous  stream,  because 
the  eye  sees  so  many  words  at  once.  We  all  tend  merely  to 
pronounce  the  words,  and  to  let  the  mind  follow  after  both  the 
eye  and  the  voice.  We  think  a  thought  after  speech  simultane- 
ously with  the  person  who  listens  to  us,  and  not  before  we  speak. 
We  tend  to  think  as  the  result  of  pronounciation,  and  not  as  the 
cause  of  speech.  The  great  difficulty  in  reading  aloud  is  in 
looking  and  thinking  before  we  speak. 


72  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

Problem  XIV.  Read  some  passage  at  sight,  pausing  before 
each  successive  phrase,  and  being  sure  to  grasp  all  the  words  of 
the  phrase  through  the  eye  before  beginning  to  express  the  idea. 


70    It  is  the  little  rift  within  the  lute, 

That  by-and-bye  will  make  the  music  mute, 
And  ever  widening,  slowly  silence  all. 


Tennyson. 


71        Mysterious  Night !  when  our  first  parent  knew 
Thee  from  report  divine,  and  heard  thy  name, 
Did  he  not  tremble  for  this  lovely  frame, 

This  glorious  canopy  of  light  and  blue? 

Yet,  'neath  a  curtain  of  translucent  dew, 

Bathed  in  the  rays  of  the  great  setting  flame, 
Hesperus  with  the  host  of  heaven  came, 

And  lo!  creation  widened  in  man's  view. 

Who  could  have  thought  such  darkness  lay  concealed 
Within  thy  beams,  O  Sun?  or  who  could  find, 

Whilst  fruit,  and  leaf,  and  insect  stood  revealed, 

That  to  such  countless  orbs  thou  mad'st  us  blind? 

Why  do  we,  then,  shun  death,  with  anxious  strife? 

If  Light  conceals  so  much  —  wherefore  not  Life? 
"  Night  and  Death."  Blanco  White. 

72.  MAEIE  ANTOINETTE. 
It  is  now  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  since  I  saw  the  Queen  of  France, 
then  the  Dauphiness,  at  Versailles ;  and  surely  never  lighted  on  this  orb, 
which  she  hardly  seemed  to  touch,  a  more  delightful  vision.  I  saw  her 
just  above  the  horizon,  decorating  and  cheering  the  elevated  sphere  she 
just  began  to  move  in,  glittering  like  the  morning  star,  full  of  life,  and 
splendour,  and  joy.  Oh,  what  a  revolution!  and  what  a  heart  I  must 
have,  to  contemplate  without  emotion  that  elevation  and  that  fall! 
Little  did  I  dream,  when  she  added  titles  of  veneration  to  those  of  en- 
thusiastic, distant,  respectful  love,  that  she  should  ever  be  obliged  to 
carry  the  sharp  antidote  against  disgrace  concealed  in  that  bosom ;  little 
did  I  dream  that  I  should  have  lived  to  see  such  disasters  fallen  upon  her 
in  a  nation  of  gallant  men,  in  a  nation  of  men  of  honour  and  of  cavaliers. 
I  thought  ten  thousand  swords  must  have  leaped  from  their  scabbards 
to  avenge  even  a  look  that  threatened  her  with  insult. 
"  Reflections  on  the  French  Revolution."  Burke. 


PHRASING.  73 

73  A  picture,  however  admirable  the  painter's  art,  and  wonderful 
his  power,  requires  of  the  spectator  a  surrender  of  himself,  in  due 
proportion  with  the  miracle  which  has  been  wrought.  Let  the  canvas 
glow  as  it  may,  you  must  look  with  the  eye  of  faith,  or  its  highest 
excellence  escapes  you.  There  is  always  the  necessity  of  helping  out 
the  painter's  art  with  your  own  resources  of  sensibility  and  imagination. 
Not  that  these  qualities  shall  really  add  anything  to  what  the  master 
has  effected;  but  they  must  be  put  so  entirely  under  his  control,  and 
work  along  with  him  to  such  an  extent,  that,  in  a  different  mood,  when 
you  are  cold  and  critical,  instead  of  sympathetic,  you  will  be  apt  to  fancy 
that  the  loftier  merits  of  the  picture  were  of  your  own  dreaming,  not  of 
his  creating. 
"The Marble  Faun."  HawtJiorne. 

X.    PHRASING 


74    The  sun  upon  the  lake  is  low,  the  wild  birds  hush  their  song, 
The  hills  have  evening's  deepest  glow,  yet  Leonard  tarries  long. 
Now  all  whom  varied  toil  and  care,  from  home  and  love  divide, 
In  the  calm  sunset  may  repair  each  to  the  loved  one's  side. 
The  noble  dame  on  turret  high,  who  waits  her  gallant  knight, 
Looks  to  the  western  beam  to  spy  the  flash  of  armour  bright. 
The  village  maid,  with  hand  on  brow  the  level  ray  to  shade, 
Upon  the  footpath  watches  now  for  Colin' s  darkening  plaid. 
Now  to  their  mates  the  wild  swans  row,  by  day  they  swam  apart, 
And  to  the  thicket  wanders  slow  the  hind  beside  the  hart. 
The  woodlark  at  his  partner' s  side  twitters  his  closing  song  — 
All  meet  whom  day  and  care  divide,  but  Leonard  tarries  long ! 

Soott. 

ET  us  note  now  the  effect  of  the  action  of  the  mind  upon 
*~*  words.  As  we  compare  words  with  a  sequence  of  ideas, 
we  find  that  every  word  is  not  a  manifestation  of  a  conception. 
The  phrase  'in  the  calm  sunset,'  has  three  words,  but  only  one 
picture  rises  in  the  mind.  In  the  preceding  extract,  there  are 
far  more  words  than  conceptions ;  in  fact,  in  reading  aloud  the 
above  lyric,  the  mind  grasps  each  picture,  and  the  words  express- 
ing it  are  gathered  into  a  group.  The  length  of  the  pauses,  and 
the  range  of  the  modulations  by  which  the  voice  relates  the 


74  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

words  to  the  underlying  idea,  are  in  direct  proportion  to  the 
vividness  of  that  idea.  This  process  of  separating  and  uniting 
words,  to  show  the  ideas  and  the  continuity  of  thought  beneath 
them,  is  called  "  phrasing." 

There  are  spontaneous  impulses  in  passion  and  mental 
action  which  tend  to  be  right ;  and  all  training  must  stimulate 
these  tendencies,  and  give  the  man  consciousness  of  them,  and 
control  over  them,  so  that  he  can  enlarge  and  strengthen  them 
when  he  desires  to  dominate  his  fellow  man.  Right  training 
enables  him  to  use  them.  One  salient  proof  that  nature  has  right 
impulses  is  found  in  the  phrasing  of  common  conversation.  Very 
rarely,  if  ever,  even  in  the  conversation  of  the  little  child,  is  a 
pause  in  the  wrong  place,  or  is  the  phrasing  incorrect ;  but  the 
very  moment  a  person  begins  to  read  or  to  recite,  that  very 
moment  perversion  begins,  and  naturalness  is  lost.  The  reason 
for  this  is  plain :  in  conversation  the  ideas  are  taken  successively, 
and  are  allowed  free  course  in  the  domination  of  words ;  but  in 
reading,  ideas  are  often  conceived  by  the  reader  after  the  words. 

In  reading  this  extract,  it  may  be  seen  also  that  vocal  punctu- 
ation is  entirely  different  from  printers'  punctuation.  Between 
the  words,  '  yes,  indeed,'  or  '  yes,  sir,'  for  example,  the  printer 
places  a  comma ;  but  there  is  no  pause  whatever  in  speech.  On 
the  other  hand,  every  sentence  requires  many  times  more 
pauses  in  speaking  than  there  are  marks  of  punctuation.  The 
printer  simply  shows  the  grammatical  or  mechanical  relation  of 
words  and  clauses;  while  the  human  voice  shows  what  lies 
beneath  all  grammar,  all  mechanical  structure,  —  the  living, 
logical  sequence  of  the  ideas.  Speaking  reveals  the  process  of 
forming  the  conceptions,  and  of  relating  one  idea  to  another, 
rather  than  the  mechanical  relation  of  words.  It  shows  the 
relation  of  words,  but  not  directly ;  it  shows  a  far  more  vital,  a 
far  deeper  and  more  inclusive  relation.  The  relation  of  words 
and  phrases  is  a  mere  accident  of  verbal  expression,  but  the 
principle  underlying  phrasing  governs  all  forms  of  language. 


PHRASING.  75 

Pantomime,  and  the  sign  language  of  deaf  mutes  and  Indians, 
show  it  possibly  more  definitely  than  Vocal  Expression.  Phras- 
ing, then,  is  the  manifestation  of  genuine  thinking  in  expression. 
It  shows  the  difference  between  the  mere  calling  of  words,  and 
the  use  of  words  as  the  direct  signs  of  thought. 

No  two  minds  phrase  alike.  Even  in  reading  the  same  extract, 
temperament  and  methods  of  mental  training  all  modify  the 
pauses.  A  great  mind  with  strong  movement,  with  nervous 
intensity  of  earnestness,  like  that  of  Bishop  Phillips  Brooks, 
moves  forward  with  shorter  pauses ;  while  a  great  judicial  mind, 
a  mind  which  logically  weighs  and  relates  each  idea,  a  mind 
which  takes  in  all  the  relations  of  an  idea  before  speaking  it, 
like  Canon  Lidden,  makes  longer  pauses.  Moreover,  the  same 
person,  on  different  occasions,  —  in  different  conditions  and 
moods  of  mind,  before  a  smaller  or  a  larger  audience,  —  does 
not  phrase  in  the  same  way. 

Methods  of  developing  phrasing  have  been  chiefly  by  rule : 
everything  has  been  based  upon  the  grammatical  relationship 
of  words.  The  following  rules  have  been  common :  "  Pause 
before  a  preposition,  before  a  relative  pronoun,  before  '  to '  as 
the  sign  of  the  infinitive  mood," —  and  so  on.  "  Pause  after  the 
subject  when  it  consists  of  more  than  one  word,  the  object  in  an 
inverted  sentence,  and  every  complete  phrase  or  clause,"  —  and 
so  on.  Now,  while  we  do  usually  pause  in  such  places,  still  we 
pause  in  other  places,  and  for  reasons  not  grammatical.  Such 
half  truths  crystallized  into  rules  are  fatal  to  naturalness  and 
simplicity. 

The  instinct  for  phrasing  must  be  developed  in  some  other 
way.  Such  rules  are  mechanical  and  artificial,  and  violate  the 
fundamental  principles  of  Vocal  Expression.  Vocal  Expression 
is  not  an  endeavor  to  show  men  the  mechanical  structure  of 
sentences,  or  the  relationship  of  words,  but  to  manifest  the 
though ii  and  feeling,  and  the  kinship  of  ideas,  behind  the  words; 
so  to  modulate  the  words  that  they  become  transparent,  that 


76  VOCAL   EXPRESSION-. 

men  no  longer  feel  the  words  or  their  relations,  but  the  thought 
and  experience  which  he  beneath  them.  It  is  not  the  gram- 
matical relations  of  words,  but  the  logical  sequence  of  ideas, 
which  should  furnish  the  governing  principle.  To  govern  reading 
merely  by  the  mechanical  and  grammatical  structure  of  the 
sentence,  is  to  make  it  not  a  natural  art,  but  the  most  mechani- 
cal and  artificial  of  arts.  Phrasing  can  never  be  made  a 
mechanical  process,  without  perverting  and  artificializing  the 
whole  manner  of  delivery. 

Whenever  thinking  is  natural  and  vigorous,  rhythmic,  pro- 
gressive and  intense,  each  idea  will  act  toward  the  words  which 
belong  to  it  as  the  magnet  does  toward  iron  filings.  It  will 
gather  them  into  clusters ;  and  every  modulation  of  the  voice, 
every  subtle  change  of  pitch  and  pause,  will  serve  to  reveal  the 
process  of  thought ;  the  principles  unfolded  in  regard  to  pause 
must  govern  phrasing.  Phrasing  illustrates  clearly  the  difference 
between  the  mechanical  and  the  natural  methods  of  developing 
delivery.  The  mechanical  method  looks  at  the  outside,  at  the 
grammatical  structure,  and  the  external  relationship.  At  one  time, 
the  art  of  reading  was  so  mechanical  that  even  such  ridiculous 
rules  as  this  were  made :  the  child  was  told  to  count  one  for  a 
comma,  two  for  a  semi-colon,  three  for  a  colon,  and  four  for  a 
period.  Such  mechanical  suggestions  were  made  within  the  mem- 
ory of  some  who  are  now  living.  Think  how  ridiculous  such  a 
rule  as  this  would  be  if  applied  to  conversation ;  but  why  not  to 
conversation  as  well  as  to  reading  ?  The  reader  is  using  the 
words  of  another ;  but  this  is  no  reason  why  he  should  be  kept 
from  thinking  the  thought  of  the  author,  and  making  each  idea 
his  own.  Why  should  he  be  placed  mentally  in  mechanical 
attitude  of  mere  pronounciation,  by  thinking  of  such  artificial 
and  mechanical  rules  as  these  ?  The  rules  given  for  phrasing 
and  pausing  are  equally  bad.  Phrasing  must  not  be  trammelled 
by  any  artificial  rules.  It  can  only  be  natural  when  L  is  the 
direct  revelation  of  the  vividness,  the  intensity,  and  the  rhythmic 
pulsation  of  the  thinking. 


PHRASING.  77 

To  illustrate  the  subject  of  pausing  and  phrasing  take  two 
little  poems  of  Browning : 

75.    MEETING  AT  NIGHT. 

The  gray  sea  and  the  long  black  land; 
And  the  yellow  half-moon,  large  and  low; 
And  the  startled  little  waves  that  leap 
In  fiery  ringlets  from  their  sleep, 
As  I  gain  the  cove  with  pushing  prow, 
And  quench  its  speed  in  the  slushy  sand. 

Then  a  mile  of  warm,  sea-scented  beach ; 

Three  fields  to  cross  till  a  farm  appears ; 

A  tap  at  the  pane,  the  quick,  sharp  scratch 

And  blue  spurt  of  a  lighted  match, 

And  a  voice  less  loud,  thro'  its  joys  and  fears, 

Than  the  two  hearts  beating  each  to  each ! 

Browning. 


76.   PARTING  AT  MORNING. 

Round  the  cape  of  a  sudden  came  the  sea, 
And  the  sun  looked  over  the  mountain's  rim  — 
And  straight  was  a  path  of  gold  for  him, 
And  the  need  of  a  world  of  men  for  me. 


Browning. 


If  these  poems  are  read  as  a  mere  stream  of  words,  there  is 
no  sign  or  evidence  of  any  thinking  on  the  part  of  the  reader. 
Such  a  process  completely  eliminates  thinking ;  it  is  proof- 
reading, and  all  attention  is  devoted  to  the  words  as  words. 
When,  however,  the  reader  begins  to  think  over  the  real  mean- 
ing, and  lingers  over  each  idea  as  he  would  over  a  beautiful 
painting,  what  a  difference  is  manifest  in  the  stream  of  words ! 
What  magnetic  power  begins  to  be  acquired  by  the  successive 
ideas !  "  The  gray  sea  "  becomes  a  picture  in  itself ;  "  and  the 
long  black  land  "  is  painted  in  contrast  to  it ;  "  and  the  yellow 
half-moon,  large  and  low,"  —  this  can  be  given  as  one,  two  or 
three  pictures.  A  versatile  mind  will  take  more  steps,  a  slow,  pro- 
gressive, broad,  comprehensive  mind  will  take  a  less  number  of 
steps ;  —  so  that  no  rule  can  be  laid  down.     The  mind  proceeds 


78  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

naturally :  "  the  startled  little  waves  "  and  then  what  they  do,  — 
"  that  leap  in  fiery  ringlets,"  and  their  previous  repose  contrasted 
with  effect,  "  from  their  sleep."  And  so  on,  each  image  being 
vigorously  conceived  in  its  turn,  the  mind  moves  on  progress- 
ively, and  the  words  spontaneously  respond.  When  once  the 
mind  is  started,  its  action  is  too  simple  to  need  explanation. 
Even  in  the  last  lines,  if  the  mind  has  rhythmically  and  dramati- 
cally progressed  with  each  idea,  the  truth  is  so  felt  that  prosy 
explanation  will  only  superficialize  and  spoil  its  beauty. 

In  reading  the  second  poem,  it  must  be  remembered  that 
Browning,  when  he  once  begins  a  poem,  never  changes  his 
situation  ;  so  that  hi  this  poem,  which  is  a  part  of  the  other,  or 
a  contrast  to  it,  the  same  person  is  speaking  in  the  same  situa- 
ation. 

77    Hast  thou  named  all  the  birds  without  a  gun? 

Loved  the  Maid-rose,  and  left  it  on  its  stalk? 

At  rich  men's  tables  eaten  bread  and  pulse? 

Unarmed,  faced  danger  with  a  heart  of  trust? 

And  loved  so  well  a  high  behavior, 

In  man  or  maid,  that  thou  from  speech  refrained, 

Nobility  more  nobly  to  repay? 

Oh,  be  my  friend,  and  teach  me  to  be  thine ! 

Emerson. 


This  extract  from  Emerson  illustrates  how  the  mind  spon- 
taneously brings  together  familiar  words,  —  "  Hast  thou  named 
all  the  birds  ?  "  is  all  one  thing,  familiar  and  easily  understood,  — 
so  they  tend  to  one  group ;  but  the  real  point  is  in  the  next, 
"  without  a  gun."  The  mind  has  come  upon  something  unusual; 
this  is  shown  by  a  spontaneous  pausing,  and  change  of  move- 
ment. The  next  is  naturally  to  be  expected,  "Loved  the  wood- 
rose,"  but  the  next  is  remarkable,  "  and  left  it  on  its  stalk ; "  so 
the  mind  tends  to  divide  it  into  two  phrases. 

The  student,  by  a  little  self-observation  in  reading,  can  easily 
find  the  true  principles  of  nature,  and  get  at  the  heart  of  the 
simplicity  and  power  of  such  a  method.   The  process  of  making 


PHRASING.  79 

the  thought  one's  own  is  not  only  the  most  effective,  but  is  also 
the  only  possible  method  of  grouping  words  about  the  successive 
ideas.  No  mechanical  and  artificial  rules  and  expedients  have 
ever  accomplished  anything  but  injury  in  artistic  training.* 

Problem  XV.  Think  each  successive  idea  in  any  passage  so 
genuinely  and  intensely  as  to  cause  the  voice  to  be  modulated, 
and  the  words  to  be  gathered  into  groups,  according  to  their  re- 
lation to  the  thought. 


■- 


78  The  soul  of  music  slumbers  in  its  shell 

Till  waked  and  kindled  by  the  master's  spell; 

And  feeling  hearts,  touch  them  but  rightly,  pour 

A  thousand  melodies  unheard  before. 

Samuel  Rogers. 

79  Large  was  his  soul;  as  large  a  soul  as  e'er 
Submitted  to  inform  a  body  here ; 

High  as  the  place  'twas  shortly  in  Heaven  to  have, 

But  low  and  humble  as  his  grave ; 
So  high  that  all  the  virtues  there  did  come 

As  to  the  chiefest  seat, 

Conspicuous  and  great, 
So  low  that  for  me,  too,  it  made  a  room. 

Cowley. 

80  Roaming  in  thought  over  the  Universe,  I  saw  the  little  that  is 
Good  steadily  hastening  towards  immortality.  And  the  vast  all  that 
is  called  evil  I  saw  hastening  to  merge  itself,  and  become  lost  and  dead. 

Whitman. 

81    Come  from  the  hills  where  your  hirsels  are  grazing, 
Come  from  the  glen  of  the  buck  and  the  roe ; 
Come  to  the  crag  where  the  beacon  is  blazing, 
Come  with  the  buckler,  the  lance,  and  the  bow. 
Trumpets  are  sounding,  war-steeds  are  bounding, 
Stand  to  your  arms,  and  march  in  good  order, 
England  shall  many  a  day  tell  of  the  bloody  fray, 
When  the  Blue  Bonnets  came  over  the  Border. 


Scott 


*  See  Classics,  pp.  17,  198,  296. 


80  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

82.    A  FAREWELL. 

Flow  down,  cold  rivulet  to  the  sea,  thy  tribute  wave  deliver; 
No  more  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be,  forever  and  forever. 
Flow,  softly  flow,  by  lawn  and  lea,  a  rivulet,  then  a  river; 
Nowhere  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be,  forever  and  forever. 

But  here  will  sigh  thine  alder-tree,  and  here  thine  aspen  quiver; 

And  here  by  thee  will  hum  the  bee,  forever  and  forever. 

A  thousand  suns  will  stream  on  thee,  a  thousand  moons  will  quiver, 

But  not  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be,  forever  and  forever. 

Tennyson. 


83    The  faery  beam  upon  you  —  the  stars  to  glisten  on  you  —  a  moon 
of  light  in  the  noon  of  night,  till  the  fire-drake  hath  o'ergone  you!    The 
wheel  of  fortune  guide  you.     The  boy  with  the  bow  beside  you;  run  aye 
in  the  way  till  the  bird  of  day,  and  the  luckier  lot,  betide  you. 
"  Gipsy  Benediction.'"  Ben  Jonson. 


XI.    SIMPLICITY. 

/""VNE  of  the  first  and  most  important  lessons  for  the  student 
^S  to  learn  in  any  art  work,  is  that  all  true  power  is  simple. 
Nothing  can  be  great  or  strong  which  is  not  founded  upon 
simple  truthfulness,  and  fidelity  to  nature.  Delivery  is  apt  to 
be  considered  as  something  belonging  entirely  to  manner  and 
externals.  In  many  cases  it  is  considered  synonymous  with 
affectation ;  yet  true  work  in  expression  is  the  best  means  of 
making  us  feel  the  real  essence  of  simplicity.  While  on  the 
one  hand,  elocution  may  be  made  the  means  of  developing 
affectation ;  on  the  other,  it  may  be  studied  in  such  a  way  as  to 
remove  affectation,  and  develop  genuineness  and  sincerity.  If 
a  student  is  led  to  study  the  elements  of  his  thinking,  and  the 
spontaneous  tendencies  of  his  nature  to  utterance, — to  observe 
what  pleases  him  in  the  conversation  of  others,  —  he  will  become 
conscious  of  what  is  truly  natural,  and  be  able  to  distinguish 
naturalness  from  affectation. 

The  greatest  writers  and  artists  have  one  invariable  charac- 
teristic:  they  are  simple   and   sincere.      Homer  and   Phidias, 


SIMPLICITY.  81 

Virgil  and  Dante,  Shakespeare  and  Wordsworth,  all  use  the 
simplest  words  to  express  their  ideas.  The  greatness  of  all  art 
consists  in  its  transparency ;  the  greatness  of  all  oratory,  of  all 
delivery,  and  histrionic  expression,  is  its  simple  intensity  and 
naturalness,  its  depth,  not  loudness,  its  hidden  soul,  not  showy 
garment,  its  repose,  not  extravagance. 

The  greatest  necessity  for  the  student  in  expression  is  to  be 
free  from  all  mannerisms ;  the  greatest  danger  is  the  substitu- 
tion of  affectation  for  the  true  utterance  of  what  is  in  the  mind. 
Affectation  literally  means  something  joined  to  something  else; 
a  stick  of  wood  nailed  to  the  side  of  a  tree  would  be  an  affected 
limb.  If  we  do  not  have  something  in  our  hearts,  we  can  never 
have  it  in  utterance.  Simplicity  in  expression  means  an  absence 
of  show,  declamation,  and  affectation,  and  the  presence  of  that 
only  which  makes  clear  and  transparent.  It  is  a  manifestation 
of  directness  of  thought  and  aim. 

Simplicity  is  founded  upon  sincerity.  It  is  a  manifestation  of 
true  earnestness ;  it  implies  faith  in  truth  rather  than  in  modes 
of  presentation ;  it  is  a  simple  correspondence  between  thought, 
feeling  and  their  expression,  founded  upon  truthfulness  of  feel- 
ing. It  is  ever  the  foundation  of  all  excellence  in  expression ; 
and  it  implies  directness  of  thought,  sincerity  of  motive,  truth- 
fulness of  the  soul,  in  its  bearing  toward  nature  and  man.  These 
are  the  most  necessary  requisites  for  all  true  greatness  in 
speaking. 

The  true  road  to  simplicity  is  through  abandonment.  To 
some,  abandon  means  extravagance ;  but  abandon  does  not  mean 
muscular  labor,  —  rather  the  opposite.  Abandon  is  not  bombast, 
nor  is  simplicity  repression.  True  abandon,  true  spontaneity, 
as  has  been  shown,  is  the  giving  of  ourselves  to  the  harmonious 
impulses  of  all  parts  of  our  nature,  working  in  unity.  True 
spontaneity  forbids  too  much  interference  with  natural  unity  of 
impulse,  as  simplicity  forbids  any  addition  to  the  true  outward 
manifestations  of  thought  and  feeling. 


82  VOCAE   EXPRESSION. 

From  this  can  be  seen  the  importance  of  studying  the  best 
authors  to  develop  Vocal  Expression.  The  authors  first  chosen 
are  of  great  moment :  the  first  loves  in  literature  are  the  most 
lasting,  giving  us  our  ideals  of  life,  and  the  conceptions  for  all 
art  work.  Such  authors  should  be  selected  for  practice  as  will 
foster  no  abnormal  taste,  but  develop  a  sense  of  simplicity,  and 
a  love  of  nature  and  truth. 

One  of  the  best  authors  to  develop  simplicity  is  "Wordsworth : 
his  best  work  is  full  of  the  simple  love  of  nature ;  his  ideas  are 
the  product  of  genuine  imagination,  without  extravagance  of 
fancy,  and  are  expressed  in  the  simplest  words.  Another 
author,  sincere  and  without  declamation,  is  Burns.  In  his  poem 
"  To  the  Daisy,"  there  is  the  simple,  genuine  feeling  of  the 
heart,  without  affectation,  or  bombastic  pretense  of  emotion,  or 
far-fetched  images.  We  feel  only  the  man  and  the  object  of 
which  he  speaks.  No  mass  of  labored  words  and  phrases  befog 
the  simple  images  and  feeling  of  the  heart.  But  the  very  text- 
book of  human  nature  and  expression  is  found  in  Shakespeare. 
It  is  very  well,  however,  for  students  to  go  to  the  fountain-head 
of  simplicity  and  all  art,  —  Homer.  At  any  rate,  students  should 
avoid  the  hot-house,  extravagant  compositions  that  are  pub- 
lished in  "  Choice  Selections,"  and  "  Choice  Recitations."  The 
style  of  composition  which  is  so  loved  in  elocutionary  renderings 
is  the  saddest  of  all  comments  upon  the  condition  of  the  art. 
Good  literature  can  be  found  on  all  sides  at  a  very  low  cost. 
Students  should  make  their  own  extracts,  and  arrange  their  own 
selections  and  readings.  Even  college  students  are  found  looking 
to  books  of  selections  for  "  a  good  declamation ; "  and  often  they 
make  no  effort  to  look  up  the  source  of  such  extracts,  to  find 
their  original  spirit,  the  author's  full  meaning,  or  the  use  to 
which  they  were  first  applied. 

A  sense  of  simplicity  is  requisite  to  an  appreciation  of  a  great 
work  of  art,  or  to  the  development  of  literary  taste.  To  be 
able  to  appreciate  the  Greek  simplicity  of  phrase  in  a  poem  like 


SIMPLICITY.  83 

Cowper's  "Royal  George";  to  recognize  the  transparency  of 
Wordworth's  early  poems,  the  naturalness  and  force  of  Burns' 
"  Daisy,"  —  is  to  make  a  great  step  in  the  appreciation  of  poetry 
and  art.  The  ability  to  render  such  poems  without  tameness 
on  the  one  hand,  or  declamation  on  the  other,  with  a  perfectly 
natural  and  simple  expression  of  their  true  spirit,  is  the  mark 
of  the  true  reader.  True  art  manifests  truthfully  and  simply  the 
process  of  thought  and  feeling  in  the  human  heart.* 

Problem  XVI.  Read  an  extract  and  give  direct  expression  to 
the  spontaneous  impulses.  Try  as  little  as  possible  to  add  to  or  to 
detract  from  the  inherent  energy  of  the  thought.  Avoid  all 
affectation  on  the  one  hand,  or  repression  on  the  other.  Give 
every  impulse  its  truthful  voice. 


84    I  travelled  among  unknown  men,  in  lands  beyond  the  sea; 

Nor,  England !  did  I  know  till  then  wbat  love  I  bore  to  thee. 

'Tis  past,  that  melancholy  dream !  nor  will  I  quit  thy  shore 

A  second  time ;  for  still  I  seem  to  love  thee  more  and  more. 

Among  thy  mountains  did  I  feel  the  joy  of  my  desire; 

And  she  I  cherished  turned  her  wheel  beside  an  English  fire. 

Thy  mornings  showed,  thy  nights  concealed  the  bowers  where  Lucy  played; 

And  thine  too  is  the  last  green  field  that  Lucy's  eyes  surveyed. 

Wordsworth. 

85.    A  CONSOLATION. 
When  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men's  eyes 
I  all  alone  beweep  my  outcast  state, 
And  trouble  deaf  heaven  with  my  bootless  cries, 
And  look  upon  myself,  and  curse  my  fate ; 
Wishing  me  like  to  one  more  rich  in  hope, 
Featured  like  him,  like  him  with  friends  possest, 
Desiring  this  man's  art,  and  that  man's  scope, 
With  what  I  most  enjoy  contented  least ; 
Yet  in  these  thoughts  myself  almost  despising, 
Haply  I  think  on  Thee,  —  and  then  my  state, 
Like  to  the  lark  at  break  of  day  arising 
From  sullen  earth,  sings  hymns  at  heaven's  gate; 
For  thy  sweet  love  remember' d,  such  wealth  brings 
That  then  I  scorn  to  change  my  state  with  kings. 

Shakespeare. 
*  Classics,  pp.  83,  86,  90;  108,  206. 


84  VOCAL   EXPEESSION. 

86    The  Lord  is  my  shepherd,  I  shall  not  want.    He  maketh  me  to 

lie  down  in  green  pastures,  he  leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters.     He 

restoreth  my  soul,  he  leadeth  me  in  paths  of  righteousness,  for  His 

name's  sake.     Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 

death,  I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  thou  art  with  me,  thy  rod  and  thy  staff, 

they  comfort  me.     Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me  in  the  presence  of 

mine  enemies,  thou    anointest   my  head  with  oil,  my  cup  runneth  over. 

Surely,  goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow  me  all  the  days  of  my  life,  and  I 

will  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  forever. 

Psalm  XXIII. 

87.    PRIAM  AND  ACHILLES. 

Then  Priam  spake  and  entreated  him,  saying,  "Bethink  thee,  O 
Achilles,  like  to  gods,  of  thy  father  that  is  of  like  years  with  me,  on  the 
grievous  pathway  of  old  age.  While  he  heareth  of  thee  as  yet  alive,  he 
rejoiceth  in  his  heart,  and  hopeth  withal,  day  after  day,  that  he  shall  see 
his  dear  son  returning  from  Troj-land.  But  I,  I  am  utterly  unblest, 
since  I  begat  sons,  the  best  men  in  wide  Troy-land,  but  declare  unto  thee 
that  none  of  them  is  left.  He  who  was  yet  left,  and  guarded  city  and 
men,  him  thou  slewest  but  now  as  he  fought  for  his  country,  even  Hector. 
For  his  sake  come  I  unto  the  ships  of  the  Achaians,  that  I  may  win  him 
back  from  thee,  and  I  bring  with  me  untold  ransom.  Yea,  fear  thou  the 
gods,  Achilles,  and  have  compassion  on  me,  even  me,  bethinking  thee  of 
thy  father.  Lo,  I  am  yet  more  piteous  than  he,  and  have  braved  what 
none  other  man  on  earth  hath  braved  before,  to  stretch  forth  my  hand 
toward  the  face  of  the  slayer  of  my  sons." 

Thus  spake  he,  and  stirred  within  Achilles  desire  to  make  lament  for 
his  father.  And  he  touched  the  old  man's  hand,  and  gently  moved  him 
back.  And  as  they  both  bethought  them  of  their  dead,  so  Priam  for 
man-slaying  Hector  wept  sore  as  he  was  fallen  before  Achilles'  feet,  and 
Achilles  wept  for  his  own  father,  and  now  again  for  Patroklos,  and  their 
moan  went  up  throughout  the  house.  But  when  noble  Achilles  had 
satisfied  him  with  lament,  and  the  desire  thereof  departed  from  his  heart 
and  limbs,  straightway  he  sprang  from  his  seat  and  raised  the  old  man 
by  his  hand,  pitying  his  hoary  head  and  hoary  beard,  and  spake  unto 
him  winged  words,  and  said:  "Ah,  hapless!  many  ill  things  verily  thou 
hast  endured  in  thy  heart.  This  is  the  lot  the  gods  have  spun  for 
miserable  men,  that  they  should  live  in  pain.  To  Peleus  gave  the  gods 
splendid  gifts  from  his  birth,  for  he  excelled  all  men  in  good  fortune  and 
wealth,  and  was  king  of  the  Myrmidons,  and,  mortal  though  he  was,  the  god 
gave  him  a  goddess  to  be  his  bride.  Yet  on  him  God  brought  evil,  seeing 
that  he  begat  one  son  to  an  untimely  death.    And  of  thee,  old  sire,  we 


SIMPLICITY.  85 

have  heard  how  of  old  time  thou  wert  happy,  — but  Heaven  brought  this 
bane  on  thee.  Keep  courage,  and  lament  not  unabatingly  in  thy  heart; 
for  nothing  wilt  thou  avail  by  grieving  for  thy  son,  neither  shalt  thou 
bring  him  back  to  life.  Thy  son,  old  sire,  is  given  back  as  thou  wouldst, 
and  lieth  on  a  bier,  and  with  the  break  of  day  thou  shalt  see  him  thyself 
as  thou  earnest  him." 

And  they  yoked  oxen  and  mules  to  wains,  and  quickly  then  they 
flocked  before  the  city.  So  nine  days  they  gathered  great  store  of  wood. 
But  when  the  tenth  morn  rose  with  light  for  men,  then  bare  they  forth 
brave  Hector,  weeping  tears,  and  on  a  lofty  pyre  they  laid  the  dead  man, 
and  thereon  cast  fire. 

But  when  the  daughter  of  Dawn,  rosy-fingered  Morning,  shone  forth, 
then  gathered  the  folk  around  glorious  Hector's  pyre.  First  quenched 
they  with  bright  wine  all  the  burning,  so  far  as  the  fire's  strength  went, 
and  then  his  brethren  and  comrades  gathered  his  white  bones  lamenting, 
and  big  tears  flowed  down  their  cheeks.  And  the  bones  they  took  and 
laid  in  a  golden  urn,  shrouding  them  in  soft  purple  robes,  and  straightway 
laid  the  urn  in  a  hollow  grave,  and  piled  thereon  great,  close-set  stones. 
"The  Iliad"  Translated  by  Myers.  Homer. 


88.    LOSS  OP  THE  EOYAL  GEOEGE. 
Toll  for  the  brave !  the  brave  that  are  no  more ! 
All  sunk  beneath  the  wave,  fast  by  their  native  shore ! 
Eight  hundred  of  the  brave  whose  courage  well  was  tried, 
Had  made  the  vessel  heel,  and  laid  her  on  her  side. 
A  land-breeze  shook  the  shrouds,  and  she  was  overset; 
Down  went  the  Boyal  George,  with  all  her  crew  complete. 
Toll  for  the  brave !    Brave  Kempenfelt  is  gone ; 
His  last  sea-fight  is  fought,  his  work  of  glory  done. 
It  was  not  in  the  battle;  no  tempest  gave  the  shock; 
She  sprang  no  fatal  leak,  she  ran  upon  no  rock. 
His  sword  was  in  its  sheath,  his  fingers  held  the  pen, 
When  Kempenfelt  went  down  with  twice  four  hundred  men. 
Weigh  the  vessel  up  once  dreaded  by  our  foes ! 
And  mingle  with  our  cup  the  tear  that  England  owes. 
Her  timbers  yet  are  sound,  and  she  may  float  again 
Full  charged  with  England's  thunder,  and  plough  the  distant  main: 
But  Kempenfelt  is  gone,  his  victories  are  o'er; 
And  he  and  his  eight  hundred  shall  plough  the  wave  no  more. 

Cowper. 

*  The  Royal  George,  of  108  guns,  whilst  undergoing  a  partial  careening  in  Ports 
fcouth  Harbor,  was  overset  Aug.  29, 1782.    The  total  loss  was  nearly  1,000  men. 


St)  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

89.  TO  A  MOUNTAIN  DAISY. 

On  turning  one  down  with  the  plough,  in  April,  1786. 

Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flower,  thou's  met  me  in  an  evil  hour; 
for  I  maun  crush  amang  the  stoure  thy  slender  stem :  to  spare  thee  now  is 
past  my  power,  thou  bonnie  gem.  Alas!  it's  no  thy  neebor  sweet,  the 
bonnie  lark,  companion  meet!  bending  thee  'mang  the  dewy  weet!  wi' 
spreckled  breast,when  upward-springing,  blythe,  to  greet  the  purpling  east. 

Cauld  blew  the  bitter-biting  north  upon  thy  early,  humble  birth ;  yet 

cheerfully  thou  glinted  forth  amid  the  storm,  scarce  reared  above  the 

parent  earth  thy  tender  form.     The  flaunting  flowers  our  gardens  yield, 

high  sheltering  woods  and  wa's  maun  shield,   but  thou,   beneath  the 

random  bield*  o'  clod  or  stane,  adorns  the  histiet  stibble-field,  unseen, 

alane.     There,  in  thy  scanty  mantle  clad,  thy  snawy  bosom  sunward 

spread,  thou  lifts  thy  unassuming  head  in  humble  guise;  and  now  the 

share  uptears  thy  bed,  and  low  thou  lies !  .  .  . 

Such  is  the  fate  of  simple  bard,  on  life's  rough  ocean  luckless  starred! 

unskilful  he  to  note  the  card  of  prudent  lore,  till  billows  rage,  and  gales 

blow  hard,  and  whelm  him  o'er!  .  .  .  Even  thou  who  mourn' st  the 

daisy's  fate,  that  fate  is  thine  —  no  distant  date !  Stern  Ruin's  ploughshare 

drives,  elate,  full  on  thy  bloom,  till  crushed  beneath  the  furrow's  weight 

shall  be  thy  doom. 

Burns. 

90.  SALLY  IN  OUR  ALLEY. 

Of  all  the  girls  that  are  so  smart  there's  none  like  pretty  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart,  and  she  lives  in  our  alley. 
There  is  no  lady  in  the  land  is  half  so  sweet  as  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart,  and  she  lives  in  our  alley. 
Her  father  he  makes  cabbage-nets  and  through  the  streets  does  cry  'em; 
Her  mother  she  sells  laces  long  to  such  as  please  to  buy  'em: 
But  sure  such  folks  could  n'er  beget  so  sweet  a  girl  as  Sally! 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart,  and  she  lives  in  our  alley. 
When  she  is  by,  I  leave  my  work,  I  love  her  so  sincerely; 
My  master  comes  like  any  Turk,  and  bangs  me  most  severely  — 
But  let  him  bang  his  bellyful,  I'll  bear  it  all  for  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart,  and  she  lives  in  our  alley. 
Of  all  the  days  that's  in  the  week  I  dearly  love  but  one  day  — 
And  that's  the  day  that  comes  betwixt  a  Saturday  and  Monday; 
For  then  I'm  drest  all  in  my  best  to  walk  abroad  with  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart,  and  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

*  Shelter.  t  Dry 


ANIMATION.  87 

My  master  carries  me  to  church,  and  often  am  I  blamed 

Because  I  leave  him  in  the  lurch  as  soon  as  text  is  named ; 

I  leave  the  church  in  sermon-time,  and  slink  away  to  Saily; 

She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart,  and  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

When  Christmas  comes  about  again,  oh,  then  I  shall  have  money; 

I'll  hoard  it  up  and  box  it  all,  I'll  give  it  to  my  honey: 

I  would  it  were  ten  thousand  pound,  I'd  give  it  all  to  Sally; 

She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart,  and  she  lives  in  our  alley. 

My  master  and  the  neighbours  all  make  game  of  me  and  Sally, 

And,  but  for  her,  I'd  better  be  a  slave,  and  row  a  galley; 

But  when  my  seven  long  years  are  out,  oh,  then  I'll  marry  Sally,  — 

Oh,  then  we'll  wed,  and  then  we'll  bed,  but  not  in  our  alley! 

Carey. 


XII.    ANIMATION. 


91    Thou  comest!  Yes!  the  vessel's  cloud 
Hangs  dark  upon  the  rolling  sea. 
Oh,  that  yon  sea-bird's  wings  were  mine, 
To  win  one  instant's  glimpse  of  thee!  Arnold. 


SIMPLICITY  is  present  in  proportion  as  the  ideas  directly 
^  and  immediately  cause  the  expression.  Animation  is  in 
proportion  to  the  vividness  of  the  conceptions,  the  vigor  of  their 
response,  and  their  rhythmic  sequence.  At  first  thought,  anima- 
tion may  seem  to  be  the  direct  opposite  of  simplicity;  but 
this  is  not  the  case,  for  true  simplicity,  and  true  genuineness,  are 
characteristic  of  all  life.  The  direct  road  to  true  animation  is 
simplicity.  To  be  full  of  life,  we  must  be  unostentatious,  sin- 
cere, and  genuine.  To  be  one's  self  is  to  be  alive.  Animation 
and  simplicity  are  not  only  essential  elements  of  all  expression 
and  art :  they  are  also  co-essential  to  each  other ;  they  are  neces- 
sary complements  of  each  other. 

The  word  'animation'  comes  to  us  from  the  Latin  word 
'anima,'  which  meaus  'soul,'  or  'life.'  An  animated  style 
is  a  style  full  of  life  and  vigor.  That  which  gives  life  to  a  word 
is  the  vividness  of  the  conception  that  is  suggested  by  it.  The 
animation,  therefore,  is  in  direct  proportion  to  the  vigor  of  the 


88  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

mind  in  thinking,  and  to  the  vividness  with  which  each  concep- 
tion is  seen,  or  heard,  or  felt. 

92  Considek  the  lilies  of  the  field  how  they  grow ;  they  toil  not,  neither 
do  they  spin ;  and  yet  I  say  unto  you,  that  even  Solomon  in  all  his  glory 
was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these. 

This  sentence  is  considered  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and 
perfect  ever  penned.  It  is  simple,  —  each  word  is  the  most 
appropriate  possible.  It  awakens  a  simple  conception,  one  that 
is  possible  to  every  mind.  It  fulfills  the  conditions  of  what 
Herbert  Spencer  calls  '  economy,'  each  word  chosen  awakening 
the  conception  with  the  least  possible  expenditure  of  mental 
energy.  Then  the  images  stimulate  a  rhythmic  sequence  of 
thought  in  the  mind  of  the  reader  or  hearer.  Each  tends  to 
create  the  next :  the  mind  is  made  to  move.  The  simplicity  and 
animation  of  this  passage  are  also  tested  in  that  it  is  easily 
read.  The  successive  conceptions  are  so  definite  and  vivid  that 
they  awaken  emotion  and  all  the  normal  impulses  toward 
expression.  How  each  image  dominates  its  phrase,  how  natu- 
rally do  the  pauses  recur,  and  how  easily  does  the  voice  modu- 
late pitch  and  inflection  in  revealing  the  progress  of  ideas ! 

The  principle  underlying  animation  in  style  also  underlies  all 
true  life  in  Vocal  Expression.  The  conceptions  of  the  mind 
must  be  clear,  distinct,  and  full  of  life.  The  most  vivid  passage 
may  be  read  with  dry,  cold  abstraction  on  account  of  a  failure 
to  realize  the  successive  ideas.  The  mechanical  method  is  often 
adopted  in  teaching  Vocal  Expression,  as  a  substitute  for  vigor- 
ous thinking.  Students  are  often  more  fond  of  a  mechanical 
method,  and  resent  any  reference  to  their  thinking.  They  are 
looking  for  some  system  which  will  save  the  trouble  of  thinking. 
According  to  the  method  of  nature,  all  animation  and  power  in 
Vocal  Expression  must  depend  upon  the  vigor  of  thought ;  the 
thinking  must  be  so  vigorous,  ideas  must  be  so  realized,  that  all 
the  faculties  and  powers  of  the  man  will  be  brought  into 
harmonious  action. 


ANIMATION.  89 

We  find  that  the  development  of  a  good  style  in  writing,  and 
a  proper  mode  of  reading  or  speaking,  is  dependent  upon  the 
same  principles.  Speaking  and  reading  alone  cannot  develop  a 
good  style  in  writing ;  but  right  work  in  Vocal  Expression  will 
aid  good  work  in  writing.  A  child  learns  to  speak  before  he 
learns  to  write.  We  find  also  that  Vocal  Expression  is  a  better, 
or  at  least  a  more  immediate  test  of  the  vividness  of  ideas.  The 
teacher  may  see  the  student's  process  of  thinking  more  direct 
even  than  in  writing.  Writing  may  more  adequately  test  clear- 
ness and  definiteness  of  statement,  but  reading  will  test  the 
vigor,  the  vividness  of  the  thought,  and  the  freedom  of  knowl- 
edge from  symbolic  modes  of  thinking. 

Not  only  is  Vocal  Expression  the  best  means  of  testing  the 
vigor  and  life  of  thinking,  which  is  shown  in  the  animation  of 
the  successive  ideas,  but  it  is  also  an  important  means  of  training 
the  act  of  thinking.  It  develoj^s  the  power  of  simple  concep- 
tion, the  philosophic  memory,  and  the  imagination.  Whatever 
form  the  reproductive  action  of  the  mind  may  take,  Vocal 
Expression,  rightly  taught,  is  a  most  important  means  of  study- 
ing and  developing  proper  mental  action. 

In  the  work  of  developing  animation  there  are  many  dangers. 
There  is  a  tendency  merely  to  declaim,  or  to  give  loudness ;  but 
physical  earnestness  is  not  true  earnestness,  nor  is  muscular 
energy  the  highest  energy.  Loudness  has  nothing  to  do  with 
animation ;  it  is  a  false  animation,  a  mere  physical  animation. 
True  animation  is  always  simple :  it  is  the  union  of  thinking  and 
feeling,  and  it  shows  itself  by  subtle  changes  of  pitch,  and 
pauses,  —  by  definiteness  of  touch,  and  by  resonance  of  tone. 
True  earnestness  and  true  animation  act  from  the  centre  out- 
ward. Earnestness  and  animation  must  be  genuinely  reposeful ; 
true  animation  comes  from  the  harmonious  co-operation  of  all 
the  faculties  of  the  man. 

We  must  also  distinguish  between  excitement  and  animation. 
Animation  is  the  result  of  intensity  and  concentration  of  the 


90  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

mind,  and  a  co-operation  of  all  the  powers  of  thinking ;  excite- 
ment is  due  entirely  to  emotional  awakening,  or  even  to  nervous- 
ness. Animation  belongs  to  thought  and  feeling ;  excitement  is 
more  physical.  To  develop  animation,  therefore,  take  a  well- 
written  passage,  and  read  it  with  as  vigorous  a  mental  life  as 
possible.  Avoid  too  much  physical  excitement  and  loudness: 
let  the  animation  cause  the  vividness  of  the  ideas,  and  the 
movement  of  the  rhythmic  pulsations  of  the  mind,  and  reveal  it, 
as  far  as  possible,  by  change  of  pitch,  by  length  of  pause,  by 
definiteness  of  touch  and  variation. 

Work  upon  such  forms  of  literature  as  will  awaken  vigorous 
and  definite  conceptions,  so  that  we  shall  see,  feel,  and  hear  the 
events  the  mind  is  re-creating  as  vividly  as  though  they  were 
happening  in  actual  life.  Such  extracts  should  be  practised  as 
will  awaken  the  deeper  and  more  subtle  emotions  of  the  man, 
such  as  will  stimulate  his  true  earnestness,  and  his  genuine  feel- 
ing, and  arouse  that  responsive  condition  of  his  whole  nature, 
which  is  necessary  to  all  expression. 

There  are  certain  emotions  to  be  practised  which  are  especially 
helpful,  such  as  patriotic  passages,  or  those  full  of  love  of  nature. 
Some  passages  are  more  or  less  animated  in  their  very  nature ;  but 
animation  means  the  presentation  of  ideas  of  all  kinds  as  vividly 
as  then-  nature  will  admit. 

.  Problem  XVII.  Simply  and  directly  impart  the  life  and  energy 
of  a  vivid  succession  of  ideas  to  the  modulations  of  the  voice. 


93  Happy,  happy  liver,  with  a  soul  as  strong  as  a  mountain  river, 
pouring  out  praise  to  the  Almighty  Giver,  joy  and  jollity  be  with  us  both! 

"Skylark."  Wordsworth. 

94  He  rose  at  dawn,  and,  fired  with  hope,  shot  o'er  the  seething  har- 
bor bar,  and  reached  the  ship,  and  caught  the  rope,  and  whistled  to  the 
morning  star.  And  while  he  whistled  long  and  loud,  he  heard  a  fierce 
mermaiden  cry,  "  Oh,  boy,  tho'  thou  art  young  and  proud,  I  see  the  place 
where  thou  wilt  lie.  The  sands  and  yeasty  surges  mix  in  caves  about  the 
dreary  bay,  and  on  thy  ribs  the  limpet  sticks,  and  in  thy  heart  the  scrawl 


ANIMATION.  91 

shall  play."  "  Fool,"  he  answered,  "  death  is  sure  to  those  that  stay  and 
those  that  roam,  but  I  will  nevermore  endure  to  sit  with  empty  hands  at 
home.  My  mother  clings  about  my  neck,  my  sisters  crying,  '  Stay,  for 
shame;'  my  father  raves  of  death  and  wreck:  they  are  all  to  blame,  they 
are  all  to  blame.  God  help  me !  save  I  take  my  part  of  danger  on  the 
roaring  sea,  a  devil  rises  in  my  heart,  far  worse  than  any  death  to  me." 
"The  Sailor  Boy"  Tennyson. 

95i    HOME-THOUGHTS  FEOM  THE  SEA. 

Nobly,  nobly  Cape  Saint  Vincent  to  the  northwest  died  away ; 

Sunset  ran,  one  glorious  blood-red,  reeking  into  Cadiz  Bay; 

Bluish  'mid  the  burning  water,  full  in  face  Trafalgar  lay; 

In  the  dimmest  northeast  distance  dawned  Gibraltar,  grand  and  gray; 

"  Here  and  here  did  England  help  me — how  can  I  help  England?  "  say 

Whoso  turns  as  I,  this  evening,  turn  to  God  to  praise  and  pray, 

While  Jove's  planet  rises  yonder,  silent,  over  Africa. 

Browning. 


96    Sing  on,  sweet  thrush,  upon  the  leafless  bough 
Sing  on,  sweet  bird,  I  listen  to  thy  strain; 
See  aged  Winter,  'mid  his  surly  reign, 
At  thy  blithe  carol  clears  his  furrowed  brow. 


Burns. 


97    The  seed  ye  sow,  another  reaps ; 
The  wealth  ye  find,  another  keeps ; 
The  robes  ye  weave,  another  wears ; 
The  arms  ye  forge,  another  bears. 


Shelley. 


98    O  strong  sea-sailor,  whose  cheek  turns  paler  for  wind,  or  hail,  or 

for  fear  of  thee?    O  far  sea-farer,  O  thunder-bearer,  thy  songs  are  rarer 

than  soft  songs  be.     O  fleet-foot  stranger,  O  north-sea  ranger,  through 

days  of  danger  and  ways  of  fear,  blow  thy  horn  here  for  us,  blow  the  sky 

clear  for  us,  send  us  the  son  of  the  sea  to  hear. 

Sioinburne. 


99  Wherever,  O  man,  God's  sun  first  beamed  upon  thee,  where  the 
stars  of  heaven  first  shone  above  thee,  where  His  lightnings  first  de- 
clared His  omnipotence,  and  His  storm  and  wind  shook  thy  soul  with 
pious  awe,  —  there  are  thy  affections,  there  is  thy  country.  Where  the 
first  human  eye  bent  lovingly  over  thy  cradle,  where  thy  mother  first 
bore  thee  joyfully  on  her  bosom,  where  thy  father  engraved  the  words  of 
wisdom  on  thy  heart,  —  there  are  thy  affections,  there  is  thy  country. 


92  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

100  Thanks  be  to  God  for  mountains !  From  age  to  age  they  have 
been  the  last  friends  of  man.  In  a  thousand  extremities  they  have  saved 
him.  What  great  hearts  have  throbbed  in  their  denies  from  the  days  of 
Leonidas  to  those  of  Andreas  Hofer!  What  lofty  souls,  what  tender 
hearts,  what  poor  and  persecuted  creatures  have  they  sheltered  in  their 
stony  bosoms  from  the  weapons  and  tortures  of  their  fellow-men ! 

Howitt. 

101  Near  the  Pyramids,  more  wondrous  and  more  awful  than  all  else 
in  the  land  of  Egypt,  there  sits  the  lonely  Sphynx.  .  .  .  Upon  ancient 
dynasties  of  Ethiopian  and  Egyptian  kings  —  upon  Greek  and  Roman, 
upon  Arab  and  Ottoman  conquerors  —  upon  Napoleon  dreaming  of  an 
Eastern  Empire  —  upon  battle  and  pestilence  —  upon  the  ceaseless  misery 
of  the  Egyptian  race  —  upon  keen-eyed  travellers,  Herodotus  yesterday, 
Warburton  to-day  —  upon  all,  and  more,  this  unworldly  Sphynx  has 
watched,  and  watched  like  a  Providence,  with  the  same  earnest  eyes,  and 
the  same  sad,  tranquil  mien.  And  we,  we  shall  die,  and  Islam  will  wither 
away,  and  the  Englishman,  straining  far  over  to  hold  his  beloved  India, 
will  plant  a  firm  foot  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  and  sit  in  the  seats  of  the 
Faithful,  and  still  that  sleepless  rock  will  lie  watching  and  watching  the 
works  of  the  new  busy  race,  with  those  same  sad,  earnest  eyes,  and  the 
same  tranquil  mien  everlasting.     Tou  dare  not  mock  at  the  Sphynx! 

"The  Sphynx.'"  A.  W . Kinglake. 

102.    CAPE  USHANT. 

What  of  the  night,  ho!  watcher  there  upon  the  armed  deck, 
That  holds  within  its  thunderous  lair  the  last  of  Empire's  wreck  — 
E'en  him  whose  capture  now  the  chain  from  captive  earth  shall  smite; 
Ho!  rocked  upon  the  moaning  main,  watcher  what  of  the  night  ? 
"  The  stars  are  waning  fast  —  the  curl  of  morning's  coming  breeze, 
Far  in  the  North  begins  to  furl  night's  vapour  from  the  seas. 
Her  every  shred  of  canvas  spread,  the  proud  ship  plunges  free, 
While  bears  afar,  with  stormy  head,  Cape  Ushant  on  our  lee." 

At  that  last  word,  as  trumpet  stirred,  forth  in  the  dawning  grey, 
A  silent  man  made  to  the  deck  his  solitary  way. 
And  leaning  o'er  the  poop,  he  gazed  till  on  his  straining  view 
That  cloud-like  speck  of  land,  upraised,  distinct  but  slowly  grew. 
Well  may  he  look  until  his  frame  maddens  to  marble  there ; 
He  risked  Renown's  all-grasping  game,  dominion  or  despair  — 
And  lost  —  and  lo,  in  vapour  furled,  the  last  of  that  loved  France, 
For  which  his  prowess  cursed  the  world,  is  dwindling  from  his  glance. 


ANIMATION.  93 

Rave  on,  thou  far-resounding  deep,  whose  billows  round  him  roll ! 
Thou' ft  calmness  to  the  storms  that  sweep  this  moment  o'er  his  soul. 
Black  chaos  swims  before  him,  spread  with  trophy-shaping  bones, 
The  council  strife,  the  battle-dead,  rent  charters,  cloven  thrones. 
Yet,  proud  one !  could  the  loftiest  day  of  thy  transcendent  power 
Match  with  the  soul-compelling  sway  which  in  this  dreadful  hour 
Aids  thee  to  hide,  beneath  the  show  of  calmest  lip  and  eye, 
The  hell  that  wars  and  works  below,  —  the  quenchless  thirst  to  die  ? 

The  white  dawn  crimsoned  into  morn,  the  morning  flashed  to  day, 
And  the  sun  followed,  glory-born,  rejoicing  on  his  way ; 
And  still  o'er  ocean's  kindling  flood  that  muser  cast  his  view, 
While  round  him  awed  and  silent  stood  his  fate's  devoted  few. 
He  lives,  perchance,  the  past  again,  from  the  fierce  hour  when  first 
On  the  astounded  hearts  of  men  his  meteor  presence  burst ; 
When  blood-besotted  Anarchy  sank,  quelled,  amid  the  glare 
Of  thy  far-sweeping  musketry,  fame-fraught  Yendemiaire ! 

And  darker  thoughts  oppress  him  now,  —  her  ill-requited  love 
"Whose  faith,  as  beauteous  as  her  brow,  brought  blessings  from  above; 
Her  trampled  heart,  his  darkening  star,  the  cry  of  outraged  Man, 
And  white-lipped  Eout  and  wolfish  War  loud  thundering  on  his  van. 
Oh  for  the  sulphurous  eve  of  June,  when  down  that  Belgian  hill 
His  bristling  Guard's  superb  platoon  he  led  unbroken  still! 
Now  would  he  pause,  and  quit  their  side  upon  destruction's  marge, 
Nor  king-like  share  with  desperate  pride  their  vainly  glorious  charge? 

Simmons. 

103  "O  bkotheks!  speaking  the  same  dear  mother-tongue;  O  com- 
rades !  enemies  no  more,  let  us  take  a  mournful  hand  together  as  we  stand 
by  this  royal  corpse,  and  call  a  truce  to  battle !  Low  he  lies  to  whom  the 
proudest  once  used  to  kneel,  and  who  was  cast  lower  than  the  poorest ; 
dead,  whom  millions  prayed  for  in  vain.  Driven  off  his  throne ;  buffeted 
by  rude  hands;  with  his  children  in  revolt;  the  darling  of  his  old  age 
killed  before  him  untimely.  Our  Lear  hangs  over  her  breathless  lips, 
and  cries,  '  Cordelia,  Cordelia,  stay  a  little ! ' 

'  Vex  not  his  ghost  —  oh !  let  him  pass  —  he  hates  him 

That  would  upon  the  rack  of  this  tough  world 

Stretch  him  out  longer.' 

"Hush,  strife  and  quarrel,  over  the  solemn  grave!    Sound,  trumpets, 
a  mournful  march.    Fall,  dark  curtain,  upon  his  pageant,  his  pride,  his 
grief,  his  awful  tragedy!" 
"George  III."  Thackeray. 


94  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

104.   TO  THE  SKYLAEK. 
Ethekeal  minstrel!  pilgrim  of  the  sky! 
Dost  thou  despise  the  earth  where  cares  abound? 
Or  while  the  wings  aspire,  are  heart  and  eye 
Both  with  thy  nest  upon  the  dewy  ground? 
Thy  nest  which  thou  canst  drop  into  at  will, 
Those  quivering  wings  composed,  that  music  still! 

To  the  last  point  of  vision,  and  beyond, 

Mount,  daring  warbler !  —  that  love-prompted  strain  — 

'Twixt  thee  and  thine  a  never-failing  bond  — 

Thrills  not  the  less  the  bosom  of  the  plain: 

Yet  might' st  thou  seem,  proud  privilege!  to  sing 

All  independent  of  the  leafy  Spring. 

Leave  to  the  nightingale  her  shady  wood; 

A  privacy  of  glorious  light  is  thine, 

Whence  thou  dost  pour  upon  the  world  a  flood 

Of  harmony,  with  instinct  more  divine ; 

Type  of  the  wise,  who  soar,  but  never  roam,  — 

True  to  the  kindred  points  of  Heaven  and  Home. 

Wordsworth 

105    Now  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent 

Made  glorious  summer  by  this  sun  of  York ; 

And  all  the  clouds,  that  lower' d  upon  our  house, 

In  the  deep  bosom  of  the  ocean  buried. 

Now  are  our  brows  bound  with  victorious  wreaths ; 

Our  bruised  arms  hung  up  for  monuments ; 

Our  stern  alarums  changed  to  merry  meetings, 

Our  dreadful  marches  to  delightful  measures. 

Grim-visaged  war  hath  smoothed  his  wrinkled  front; 

And  now,  —  instead  of  mounting  barbed  steeds, 

To  fright  the  souls  of  fearful  adversaries,  — 

He  capers  nimbly  in  a  lady's  chamber, 

To  the  lascivious  pleasing  of  a  lute. 

But  I,  —  that  am  not  shaped  for  sportive  tricks, 

Nor  made  to  court  an  amorous  looking-glass ; 

I,  that  am  rudely  stamp' d,  and  want  love's  majesty, 

To  strut  before  a  wanton  ambling  nymph ; 

I,  that  am  curtail' d  thus  of  fair  proportion, 

Cheated  of  feature  by  dissembling  nature, 


ANIMATION.  95 

Deform'd,  unfinish'd,  sent  before  my  time 

Into  this  breathing  world,  scarce  half  made  up, 

And  that  so  lamely  and  unfashionable, 

That  dogs  bark  at  me,  as  I  halt  by  them; 

Why  I,  in  this  weak,  piping  time  of  peace, 

Have  no  delight  to  pass  away  the  time ; 

Unless  to  spy  my  shadow  in  the  sun, 

And  descant  on  mine  own  deformity: 

And  therefore  —  since  I  cannot  prove  a  lover, 

To  entertain  these  fair,  well-spoken  days  — 

I  am  determined  to  prove  a  villain, 

And  hate  the  idle  pleasures  of  these  days. 

Plots  have  I  laid,  inductions  dangerous, 

By  drunken  prophecies,  libels,  and  dreams, 

To  set  my  brother  Clarence  and  the  king 

In  deadly  hate  the  one  against  the  other: 

And,  if  King  Edward  be  as  true  and  just 

As  I  am  subtle,  false,  and  treacherous, 

This  day  should  Clarence  closely  be  mew'd  up, 

About  a  prophecy,  which  says  —  that  G 

Of  Edward's  heirs  the  murderer  shall  be. 

Dive,  thoughts,  down  to  my  soul :  here  Clarence  comes. 
"Richard  III."  Shakeupeare. 

106.  THE  DYING  YEAE. 
King  out,  wild  bells,  to  the  wild  sky,  the  flying  cloud,  the  frosty 
light;  the  year  is  dying  in  the  night;  ring  out,  wild  bells,  and  let  him  die. 
Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new,  ring,  happy  bells,  across  the  snow,  — 
the  year  is  going,  let  him  go ;  ring  out  the  false,  ring  in  the  true.  Ring 
out  the  grief,  that  saps  the  mind,  for  those  that  here  we  see  no  more; 
ring  out  the  feud  of  rich  and  poor,  ring  in  redress  to  all  mankind.  Ring 
out  a  slowly  dying  cause,  and  ancient  forms  of  party  strife ;  ring  in  the 
nobler  modes  of  life,  with  sweeter  manners,  purer  laws.  Ring  out  the 
want,  the  care,  the  sin,  the  faithless  coldness  of  the  times ;  ring  out,  ring 
out  my  mournful  rhymes,  but  ring  the  fuller  minstrel  in.  Ring  out  false 
pride  in  place  and  blood,  the  civic  slander,  and  the  spite;  ring  in  the 
love  of  truth  and  right,  ring  in  the  common  love  of  good.  Ring  out  old 
shapes  of  foul  disease,  ring  out  the  narrowing  lust  of  gold;  ring  out  the 
thousand  wars  of  old,  ring  in  the  thousand  years  of  peace.  Ring  in  the 
valiant  man,  and  free,  the  larger  heart,  the  kindlier  hand ;  ring  out  the 
darkness  of  the  land,  ring  in  the  Christ  that  is  to  be.  Tennyson. 


96  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

107.   BOADICEA. 

When  the  British  warrior  Queen,  bleeding  from  the  Roman  rods, 
Sought,  with  an  indignant  mien,  counsels  of  her  country's  gods, 
Sage  beneath  the  spreading  oak,  sat  the  Druid,  hoary  chief; 
Every  burning  word  he  spoke,  full  of  rage  and  full  of  grief. 

''Princess!  if  our  age'd  eyes  weep  upon  thy  matchless  wrongs, 
'Tis  because  resentment  ties  all  the  terrors  of  our  tongues. 
Rome  shall  perish!  write  that  word  in  the  blood  that  she  has  spilt; 
Perish,  hopeless  and  abhorred,  deep  in  ruin  as  in  guilt. 

"  Rome,  for  empire  far  renowned,  tramples  on  a  thousand  states ; 
Soon  her  pride  shall  kiss  the  ground,  — hark!  the  Gaul  is  at  her  gates! 
Other  Romans  shall  arise,  heedless  of  a  soldier's  name; 
Sounds,  not  arms,  shall  win  the  prize,  harmony  the  path  to  fame. 

"  Then  the  progeny  that  springs  from  the  forests  of  our  land, 
Armed  with  thunder,  clad  with  wings,  shall  a  wider  world  command. 
Regions  Cassar  never  knew  thy  posterity  shall  sway; 
Where  his  eagles  never  flew,  none  invincible  as  they." 

Such  the  bard's  prophetic  words,  pregnant  with  celestial  fire, 
Bending  as  he  swept  the  chords  of  his  sweet  but  awful  lyre. 
She,  with  all  a  monarch's  pride,  felt  them  in  her  bosom  glow; 
Rushed  to  battle,  fought,  and  died ;  dying,  hurled  them  at  the  foe. 
"Ruffians,  pitiless  as  proud!  heaven  awards  the  vengeance  due; 
Empire  is  on  us  bestowed,  shame  and  ruin  wait  for  you." 

William  Compel 

108    Fair  star  of  evening,  splendour  of  the  west, 
Star  of  my  country !  on  the  horizon's  brink 
Thou  hangest,  stooping,  as  might  seem,  to  sink 
On  England's  bosom;  yet  well  pleased  to  rest, 
Meanwhile,  and  be  to  her  a  glorious  crest 
Conspicuous  to  the  Nations.     Thou,  I  think, 
Should' st  be  my  Country's  emblem;  and  should' st  wink, 
Bright  star!  with  laughter  on  her  banners,  drest 
In  thy  fresh  beauty.     There !  that  dusky  spot 
Beneath  thee,  that  is  England ;  there  she  lies. 
Blessings  be  on  you  both!  one  hope,  one  lot, 
One  life,  one  glory!  —  I,  witn  many  a  fear 
For  my  dear  Country,  many  heartfelt  sighs, 
Among  men  who  do  not  love  her,  linger  here.  Wordsworth. 


II. 

METHOD,  OR  LOGICAL   RELATIONS. 


XIII.    ACCENTUATION. 


109    The  sun  is  warm,  the  sky  is  clear, 

The  waves  are  dancing  fast  and  bright, 
Blue  isles  and  snowy  mountains  wear 
The  purple  noon's  transparent  light: 
The  breatr  of  the  moist  air  is  light 
Around  its  unexpanded  buds; 
Like  many  a  voice  of  one  delight  — 
The  winds',  the  birds',  the  ocean-floods'  — 
The  City's  voice  itself  is  soft,  like  Solitude's. 

I  see  the  Deep's  untrampled  floor 
With  green  and  purple  sea-weeds  strowu; 
I  see  the  waves  upon  the  shore 
Like  light  dissolved  in  star-showers  thrown ; 
I  sit  upon  the  sands  alone ; 
The  lightning  of  the  noon-tide  ocean 
Is  flashing  round  me,  and  a  tone 
Arises  from  its  measured  motion  — 
How  sweet!  did  any  heart  now  share  in  my  emotion? 
"Near  Naples."  Shelley. 

TF  we  read  these  lines,  really  conceiving  and  admiring  the 
A  images  in  then-  order,  we  not  only  find  the  facts  we  have 
already  observed,  —  namely,  successive  ideas  and  vivid  concep- 
tions, each  dominating  the  feeling  and  its  vocal  expression, 
causing  changes  of  pitch,  pauses  between  the  conceptions,  and 
the  grouping  of  the  words  about  each  successive  image,  —  but, 
if  we  read  naturally,  we  also  find  in  each  successive  group  of 
words  or  phrases,  a  central  attack  or  accent.  The  characteristics 
7 


98  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

we  have  already  found  are  more  or  less  external  to  the  phrases 
and  words ;  but  this  attack  we  find  to  be  within  the  phrase,  and 
even  within  the  central  word. 

In  reading  this  extract,  the  mind  first  focuses  itself  upon  the 
idea  of  '  sun,'  —  that  is,  the  sun  is  the  centre  of  the  impression ; 
of  this,  the  mind  asserts  or  recognizes  '  warm.'  In  like  manner, 
of  the  '  sky '  is  predicated '  clear.'  In  the  next  line,  the  attention 
is  centred  upon  '  waves '  and  then*  characteristics,  with  climax 
upon  '  bright.'  In  the  same  way  the  mind  centres  upon  '  isle,' 
'  mountain,'  and  asserts  a  characteristic  centreing  in  '  noon.5 

Now,  if  we  observe  conversation  again,  and  note  carefully  its 
form  and  the  action  of  the  mind,  we  find  not  only  that  the  mind 
is  concentrated  upon  each  of  these  successive  ideas,  but  also  that 
these  successive  concentrations  of  the  mind  cause  definite 
touches,  or  attacks,  upon  the  central  words  in  the  phrase.  That 
is,  the  word  most  directly  related  to  the  central  idea  in  thought 
receives  a  peculiar  vocal  action,  which  manifests  the  action  of 
the  mind.  When  the  speaker  is  simple,  natural,  unaffected,  and 
spontaneous,  and  his  voice  is  flexible  and  free,  his  groups  of 
words  are  spoken  in  melodic  forms  in  correspondence  with  the 
process  of  thought.  We  find,  also,  that  as  such  concentrations 
of  the  mind  are  essential  to  thinking,  so  are  such  definite  attacks 
of  the  voice  the  most  fundamental  characteristic  of  conversation 
or  natural  speech,  and  are  essential  to  awaken  thought  in  other 
minds.  A  mere  stream  of  ideas,  or  a  mere  stream  of  words,  is 
equally  empty  and  foreign  to  thinking. 

Thought  requires  successive  concentration  of  the  mind,  or 
definite  attention  upon  specific  ideas ;  and  expression  demands 
that  the  stream  of  words  must  be  so  dominated  by  this  suc- 
cessive mental  action,  that  each  central  word  is  spontaneously 
or  deliberatively  given  in  correspondence  with  the  mental  con- 
centration and  progression  of  ideas.  This  relation  of  words  to 
ideas  may  be  compared  to  the  conventional  accentuation  of 
syllables  in  pronunciation.     The  accentuation  of  a  syllable  in  a 


ACCENTUATION.  99 

word  is  more  mechanical;  it  rarely  changes.  No  adequate 
theory  has  ever  been  given  why  one  syllable  is  accentuated 
rather  than  another.  The  most  reasonable  one  is  that  it  is  the 
syllable  containing  the  root  idea;  but  we  find  many  words 
whose  accent  is  not  found  upon  the  root  syllable.  Pronoun  cia- 
tion  seems  to  be  governed  chiefly  by  custom,  but  the  centraliza- 
tion of  words  in  conversation  is  the  effect  of  the  act  of  thinking : 
it  changes  with  every  phrase,  and  more  or  less  with  every 
speaker ;  it  is  the  direct  revelation,  through  the  voice,  of  the 
successive  points  of  concentration  in  the  attention  of  the  mind ; 
it  is  a  rhythmic  expression  in  words  of  the  rhythm  of  thought, 
a  recognition  by  the  voice  of  the  law  of  association  of  ideas, 
which  governs  all  thinking. 

In  sing-song  speech  of  any  kind,  or  where  words  are  given 
merely  for  the  sake  of  words,  as  in  reading  proof,  we  find  no 
such  accentuation.  The  reason  for  this  is  that  the  attention  of 
the  mind  is  primarily  upon  the  form,  or  upon  the  words  as 
words ;  but  the  thinking  of  the  thought  of  each  phrase,  before 
giving  the  words  that  express  it,  causes  the  word  corresponding 
to  the  central  idea  to  be  made  salient  by  the  voice.  The 
presence  of  such  accentuations,  their  degree  and  variation,  are 
in  direct  proportion  to  the  genuineness  and  directness  of  the 
thinking,  and  the  earnestness  in  communicating  the  ideas.  In 
natural  conversation,  the  act  of  thinking  each  idea  in  turn 
immediately  precedes  each  successive  act  of  expression.  When 
the  mind  deals  in  broad  generalization,  or  grasps  primarily  the 
general  purpose,  these  accentuations  are  slighted,  and  the  suc- 
cessive steps  of  the  thought  are  not  realized.  The  thinking 
must  be  a  living,  present  act,  in  rhythmic  alternation  with  the 
vocal  and  physical  acts  of  expression. 

Many  faults  in  Vocal  Expression  are  the  direct  result  of  the 
violation  of  this  element  of  naturalness.  One  of  the  most 
common  of  such  faults  is  declamation.  This  is  caused  by  speak- 
ing words  from  memory,  or  from  using  verbal  memory  rather 


100  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

than  philosophic  memory.  A  misconception  of  the  nature  of 
public  speaking  often  causes  a  lack  of  accentuation.  An  endeavor 
to  make  words  large,  or  to  speak  loud  so  as  to  appear  to  be  in 
earnest,  is  still  another  cause  of  declamatory  tones.  Another 
fault,  closely  akin  to  this,  is  rant.  Rant  is  earnestness  of  feeling 
without  earnestness  of  thought.  There  is  an  endeavor  to  im- 
press  a  general  truth  on  men  without  specifically  impressing 
upon  them  each  successive  idea,  or  conception  of  that  truth. 
Rant  results  from  an  endeavor  to  awaken  feeling  without 
awakening  ideas  as  the  cause  of  that  feeling. 

The  first  effect  of  a  lack  of  definite  rhythmic  thinking, 
which  determines  the  expression  of  each  phrase,  shows  itself  in 
the  absence  of  accentuation.  All  the  faults  associated  with 
melodies  of  speech,  such  as  "  staginess,"  and  "  ministerial  tones," 
are  caused  by  a  failure  to  dominate  the  modulations  of  the  voice 
by  the  successive  acts  of  thinking. 

Laying  aside,  for  the  present,  the  rising  and  the  falling  of  the 
voice  upon  these  central  words,  the  inflectional  accentuation 
showing  the  progression,  the  interrogative  or  the  assertive  atti- 
tude of  mind,  the  seeking  and  the  finding,  the  attitude  of 
wonder  or  acceptation,  or  of  presentation,  which  are  all  clearly 
revealed  by  the  voice  in  its  mode  of  accentuating  the  central 
words,  —  leaving  all  this  to  instinct,  for  the  present,  let  us  note 
simply  the  central  touches  or  attacks,  and  their  importance  in 
expression,  and  as  far  as  possible  give  a  definite  touch  to  the 
word  in  each  phrase  which  corresponds  to  the  centre  of  the 
attention  of  the  mind.  It  is  good  practice,  in  order  to  awaken 
the  proper  instinctive  actions  of  the  mind,  to  take  some  extract 
in  which  we  are  interested,  and  try  to  give  the  successive  ideas 
slowly  and  effectively,  so  as  to  awaken  the  same  ideas  in  another 
mind.  Whenever  each  idea  is  given  vaguely  and  not  pointedly, 
teachers  should  interrupt  a  student  with  questions,  —  "  What  ? 
Who?  Are  you  sure ? "  This  awakens  the  instinct  to  relate  an 
idea  to  another  mind,  or  reveals  to  the  student  the  vagueness  of 


ACCENTUATION.  101 

his  own  conception.  Every  one  in  conversation  adapts  his  words 
to  his  auditor,  and  also  the  modulations  of  the  voice,  the  attacks5 
the  inflections,  and  subordinations. 

The  one  great  requisite  for  effective  vocal  expression  is  the 
power  to  grapple  with  ideas,  to  awaken  definitely  and  simply 
in  another  mind  a  process  of  thought  analogous  to  our  own. 
Rhythmic  accentuation  is  a  fundamental  instinct ;  it  is  as  uni- 
versal as  mind,  and  must  simply  be  awakened. 

Problem  XVIII.  Manifest  by  the  voice,  as  simply  and  definitely 
as  possible,  the  successive  steps  of  the  process  of  thinking;  accent- 
uate the  concentration  of  the  mind  upon  the  successive  ideas,  and 
manifest  this  so  as  to  dominate  the  attention  of  another. 


110    By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 
Their  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 
Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood, 

And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 


Emerson. 


111.    FEOM  "ULYSSES." 
There  lies  the  port:  the  vessel  puffs  her  sails: 
There  gloom  the  dark  broad  seas.     My  mariners, 
Souls  that  have  toiled,  and  wrought,  and  thought  with  me,  — 
That  ever  with  a  frolic  welcome  took 
The  thunder  and  the  sunshine,  and  opposed 
Free  hearts,  free  foreheads.  — you  and  I  are  old; 
Old  age  hath  yet  his  honor  and  his  toil ; 
Death  closes  all:  but  something  ere  the  end, 
Some  work  of  noble  note,  may  yet  be  done, 
Not  unbecoming  men  that  strove  with  Gods. 
The  lights  begin  to  twinkle  from  the  rocks : 
The  long  day  wanes :  the  slow  moon  climbs :  the  deep 
Moans  round  with  many  voices.     Come,  my  friends, 
'Tis  not  too  late  to  seek  a  newer  world. 
Push  off,  and  sitting  well  in  order  smite 
The  sounding  furrows ;  for  my  purpose  holds 
To  sail  beyond  the  sunset  and  the  baths 
Of  all  the  western  stars,  until  I  die. 
It  may  be  that  the  gulfs  will  wash  us  down: 


102  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  Happy  Isles, 

And  see  the  great  Achilles,  whom  we  knew. 

Tho'  much  is  taken,  much  abides ;  and  tho' 

We  are  not  now  that  strength  which  in  old  days 

Moved  earth  and  heaven;  that  which  we  are,  we  are; 

One  equal  temper  of  heroic  hearts, 

Made  weak  by  time  and  fate,  but  strong  in  will 

To  strive,  to  seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield. 


Tennyson, 


XIV.     TOUCH. 


112    Time's  glory  is  to  calm  contending  kings, 

To  unmask  falsehood,  and  bring  truth  to  light, 

To  stamp  the  seal  of  time  in  aged  things, 

To  wake  the  morn  and  sentinel  the  night, 

To  wrong  the  wronger  till  he  render  right; 

To  ruinate  proud  buildings  with  thy  hours, 

And  smear  with  dust  their  glittering  golden  towers. 

Shakespeare. 

IF  we  read  aloud,  naturally  and  earnestly,  these  lines  of 
Shakespeare,  we  find  that  one  characteristic  of  our  reading 
is  a  succession  of  touches ;  there  is  a  rhythmic  action  in  the  voice 
that  corresponds  to  the  rhythm  of  thought.  The  rhythmic  appli- 
cation of  force  to  the  voice  is  the  direct  expression  of  the 
rhythmic  sequence  of  the  mind  in  thinking.  As  there  is  no 
thought  without  concentration  of  the  mind,  so  there  is  no  natural 
or  effective  speech  without  definiteness  of  touch,  which  corre- 
sponds to  this  concentration.  We  find  also  that  this  touch  may 
be  given  in  a  great  variety  of  ways :  it  may  be  given  so  as  to 
suggest  clearness  of  conception,  dignity,  nobleness,  and  intensity 
of  character,  on  the  part  of  the  speaker,  —  or  it  may  be  given  so 
as  to  suggest  degradation,  vague  thinking,  indefinite  purpose, 
and  lack  of  control. 

The  right  control  of  the  voice  in  touch  is  veiy  important.  In 
natural  conversation,  the  action  of  the  mind  is  directly  and 
clearly  mirrored  by  the  action  of  the  voice.     On  whatever  the 


TOUCH.  103 

attention  is  centred,  the  voice  makes  a  salient  touch.  Wher- 
ever an  idea  is  in  the  background,  the  voice  subordinates  it. 
There  are  many  actions  of  the  voice  in  the  simplest  clause.  One 
of  these  is  a  definite  and  decided  touch,  attack,  or  stress,  upon 
the  accentuated  vowel  of  the  principal  word.  There  is,  in  fact, 
a  touch  upon  each  word ;  but  there  is  a  distinctive  touch  upon 
the  central  word  in  each  phrase.  The  attack  must  be  definite 
and  decided.  Each  word  must  have  but  one  centre  of  force,  and 
that  centre  must  be  the  accented  syllable. 

Speech  must  have  the  highest  qualities  of  all  noble  and 
artistic  execution.  Among  the  chief  qualities  of  execution  in 
art  are  ease,  economy,  repose,  and  decision.  These  apply  not 
only  to  arts  like  music  and  painting,  but  also  to  all  forms  of 
speech.  Ease  is  dependent  upon  facility  or  skill,  and  the  absence 
of  constriction ;  economy  is  in  proportion  to  the  production  of  a 
maximum  of  effect  with  a  mhiimum  of  effort ;  repose  is  due  to 
the  easy  retention,  or  control,  of  the  greatest  amount  of  force, 
in  such  a  way  that  the  force  diffuses  itself  into  every  part  with- 
out going  to  waste ;  decision  refers  to  the  definite  application  of 
force  in  such  a  way  as  to  accomplish  the  end. 

Speech  and  song  differ  in  touch.  Song  is  a  prolongation  of 
sound-waves  of  a  certain  length ;  in  speech  there  is  a  constant 
variation  of  then-  length.  The  touch  in  speech  is  more  staccato 
than  in  song :  the  voice  in  speech  acts  like  the  fingers  in  playing 
upon  the  piano,  while  in  song  the  action  is  similar  to  the 
organ.  In  poor  speech  a  drag  is  often  introduced,  which  causes 
it  to  be  more  like  song,  and  in  poor  singing  there  is  a  tendency 
almost  like  inflection,  to  drag  from  one  sound  to  another.  The 
true  power  and  right  action  in  song  or  speech  are  shown  by  oppo- 
sition and  difference  from  one  another.  Whenever  the  touch  is 
definite  and  decided,  when  the  whole  word  seems  to  be  spoken 
"  out  of  the  vowel,"  speech  is  noble  and  effective.  Song  also 
has  a  decision  of  touch ;  but  the  words  have  an  easy  and  gradual 
prolongation,  which  is  not  at  all  a  characteristic  of  noble  speech. 


104  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

All  true  speech  has  a  vigorous  and  decided  attack.  Mr. 
Wyseman  Marshall,  an  experienced  actor,  and  for  many  years  a 
very  able  teacher  in  Boston,  worked  out  a  method  in  which  his 
teaching  and  acting  centred.  He  used  to  say:  "The  vowel 
must  be  struck  like  a  bell ;  that  is  the  only  way  one  can  '  keep 
the  character.' '  Not  only  is  there  a  great  element  of  truth  in 
this,  in  relation  to  impersonation ;  but  it  also  enables  one  to 
speak  each  word  on  a  different  pitch.  Change  of  pitch  is  one  of 
the  most  important  means  by  which  a  speaker  can  make  himself 
heard  in  a  large  hall. 

Not  only  is  touch  important  because  it  is  natural,  and  a 
characteristic  of  the  noblest  and  most  dignified  conversation ; 
not  only  is  it  important  because  it  enables  us  to  keep  the  char- 
acter, and  gives  freedom  and  rhythmic  accentuation  for  the 
sequence  of  ideas ;  —  but  it  is  also  necessary  for  a  proper  control 
of  breath,  and,  what  is  more  important,  in  controlling  breath  as 
a  means  of  expressing  intense  emotion.  It  is  only  by  a  definite 
touch  of  the  voice  that  the  deepest  and  most  profound  emotions 
can  be  suggested.  The  deeper  the  emotion,  the  higher,  the 
more  sublime  the  ideas  or  passion,  the  more  does  delicate  touch 
and  suggestion  characterize  the  expression.  Thus,  all  faults  of 
melody,  all  faults  of  manner,  all  faults  associated  with  what  is 
called  unnaturalness,  are  closely  connected  with  attack  or  touch. 

The  touch  of  the  voice  has  been  taught  under  the  name  of 
stress.  It  has  been  asserted  that  there  are  several  kinds  of 
stresses,  —  radical,  median,  terminal,  compound,  and  so  on,  — 
and  that  each  of  these  exj>resses  a  special  kind  of  emotion. 
Observation  and  study,  however,  will  show  that  most  of  these 
so-called  stresses  are  faults  of  speech,  and  are  abnormal.  All 
true  touch  in  speech  is  given  with  radical  stress.  The  median 
stress  is  a  kind  of  swell  of  the  voice,  and  manifests  lack  of  con- 
trol over  emotion ;  it  is  indicative  of  weakness.  The  difference 
between  touch  in  joy  and  in  sorrow  does  not  consist  in  the 
abruptness  of  stress  so  much  as  in  the  change  in  the  texture  of 


TOUCH.  105 

the  voice.  If  we  strike  a  steel  hammer  upon  a  steel  anvil  there 
is  a  sudden  concussion.  If,  however,  we  strike  it  upon  a  block 
of  cork,  though  the  blow  is  the  same,  the  concussion  is  different. 
So  it  is  in  the  voice :  sorrow  makes  the  texture  of  the  muscles 
soft,  and  the  touch  of  the  voice  is  modified  accordingly.  It  is 
not  a  difference,  however,  in  the  volitional  action  of  speech,  — 
one  is  not  a  radical  and  the  other  a  median  stress ;  the  difference 
is  in  the  texture  of  the  muscles,  and  the  resulting  tone  color. 

As  is  well  known,  the  art  of  bringing  out  the  sound  from  the 
gongs  of  Japan  and  of  India  consists. in  a  delicate  stroke  with  a 
soft  pad.  The  same  is  true  of  a  drum :  strike  a  hard  stick  on  a 
little  drum,  and  there  is  a  harsh  sound,  while  the  bass  drum  is 
struck  by  a  stick  ending  in  a  soft  ball.  The  difference  is  not  in 
the  application  of  force,  but  in  the  texture  of  the  object  that 
strikes,  or  the  size  and  texture  of  the  drum  that  is  struck.  Now, 
in  all  emotions  the  lungs  are  filled  with  air :  they  represent  a 
kind  of  drum,  and  the  touch  of  the  voice  is  that  which  brings 
out  the  resonance.  The  muscular  texture  is  very  soft  in  some 
emotions,  —  such  as  love,  pathos,  or  sorrow;  while  it  is  very 
firm  in  other  emotions,  —  such  as  joy  or  anger.  Hence  the 
resonance  or  texture  of  the  voice  is  wholly  different ;  but  the 
touch  itself  is  as  strong,  as  decided,  as  definite  in  one  case  as  in 
the  other. 

That  there  are  differences  of  touch  cannot  be  doubted.  For 
example,  there  .may  be  very  undignified  anger  in  a  veiy  low 
character,  and  "terminal  stress"  may  be  given  in  a  literal 
presentation  of  the  character ;  or  some  one  may  tiy  to  exaggerate 
the  coarseness  of  character,  and  give  "  thorough  stress."  All 
these,  however,  are  abnormal  conditions,  —  they  are  really 
faults,  and  are  not  the  manifestation  of  simple  naturalness  and 
dignified  suggestion.  Other  things  being  equal,  normal  speech 
is  uttered  with  radical  stress,  and  of  all  emotions,  pathos  and 
sorrow,  reverence  and  worship  have  most  need  of  dignified  and 
suggestive  means :  they  demand  most  control  of  breath ;  they 


106  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

tend  to  become  degraded  in  expression,  —  there  is  only  a  step 
from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous.  Noble  sorrow  can  easily 
sink  to  ignoble  sadness,  and  the  deepest  pathos  to  the  most 
sentimental  bathos. 

Instead  of  the  radical  touch  decreasing  in  sorrow  and  deep 
feeling,  it  really  increases.  The  special  function  of  touch  is  to 
manifest  the  degree  of  intensity.  Wherever  there  is  depth  of 
thought  or  passion,  wherever  there  is  activity  of  will  to  control 
emotion,  or  intensity  of  thought  awakened  by  passion,  the 
attack  rather  increases  than  decreases;  and  the  greater  the 
dignity  and  nobleness  of  the  emotion,  or  the  situation,  the  more 
important  it  is  to  preserve  definiteness  and  decision  of  attack. 

Problem  XIX.  Become  conscious  of  the  definite  touch  of  the 
voice  in  giving  the  accented  vowel  of  the  central  word  in  each 
phrase,  as  the  manifestation  of  the  concentration  of  the  mind  in 
vigorous  thinking.  _____ 

113    All  in  a  hot  and  copper  sky  the  bloody  Sun,  at  noon, 

Eight  up  above  the  mast  did  stand,  no  bigger  than  the  Moon. 

Coleridge. 

114  O  silent  voice,  that  cheered  so  long  our  manhood's  marching  day, 
Without  thy  breath  of  heavenly  song,  how  weary  seems  the  way! 

Holmes. 

115  Build  to-day,  then,  strong  and  sure,  with  a  firm  and  ample  base; 
And  ascending  and  secure  shall  to-morrow  find  its  place. 

Thus  alone  can  we  attain  to  those  turrets,  where  the  eye 
Sees  the  world  as  one  vast  plain,  and  one  boundless  reach  of  sky. 
"The  Builders."  Longfellow. 

Problem  XX.  Give  lines  full  of  kingly  dignity,  authority,  in- 
tensity, or  such  elements  as  will  naturally  increase  force,  and 
express  them  by  greater  decision  of  touch  and  variety  of  pitches 
and  pauses,  but  without  increasing  loudness. 


116    Worcester,  get  thee  gone,  for  I  do  see 
Danger  and  disobedience  in  thine  eyes. 
You  have  good  leave  to  leave  us ;  when  we  need 
Your  use  and  counsel,  we  shall  send  for  you. 
'Henry  IV."  Shakespeare. 


TOUCH.  107 

117    God  quit  you  iu  his  mercy !    Hear  your  sentence : 
You  have  conspired  against  our  royal  person, 
Join'd  with  an  enemy  proclaim'd,  and  from  his  coffers 
Received  the  golden  earnest  of  our  death ; 
Wherein  you  would  have  sold  your  king  to  slaughter, 
His  princes  and  his  peers  to  servitude, 
His  subjects  to  oppression  and  contempt, 
And  his  whole  kingdom  unto  desolation. 
Touching  our  person,  seek  we  no  revenge , 
But  we  our  kingdom's  safety  must  so  tender, 
Whose  ruin  you  three  sought,  that  to  her  laws 
We  do  deliver  you.     Get  you  therefore  hence, 
Poor  miserable  wretches,  to  your  death ; 
The  taste  whereof,  God,  of  his  mercy,  give  you 
Patience  to  endure,  and  true  repentance 
Of  all  your  dear  offences !  —  Bear  them  hence. 
"Henry  V."  Shakespeare. 

Problem  XXI.  Give  a  passage  which  is  very  delicate,  and  then 
contrast  with  ethers  full  of  greater  force,  keeping  the  same  dignity 
and  ease,  increasing  only  the  touch  and  range  of  voice.* 


118    Poets  are  the  hierophants  of  an  unapprehended  inspiration;  the 

mirrors  of  the  gigantic  shadows  which  futurity  casts  upon  the  present. 
"A  Defence  of  Poetry."  Shelley. 

119    Just  for  a  handful  of  silver  he  left  us, 
Just  for  a  ribbon  to  stick  in  his  coat. 


120    Hew  down  the  bridge,  Sir  Consul,  with  all  the  speed  ye  may;  I, 
with  two  more  to  help  me,  will  hold  the  foe  in  bay. 


121     My  life,  my  honor,  and  my  cause,  I  tender  free  to  Scotland's  laws. 


122    Rouse,  ye  Romans !    Rouse,  ye  slaves ! 


123    Alas  for  him  who  never  sees 

The  stars  shine  through  his  cypress-trees ! 


Whittier. 


*  In  these  illustrations,  we  have  the  most  delicate  touch  in  118,  the  degrees  of 
intensity  increasing  to  122.  In  123  and  124,  we  have  the  expression  of  sorrow  and 
seriousness,  and  we  find  in  these  that  the  intensity  of  the  touch  does  not  lessen, 
but  rather  increases.  It  is  the  texture  and  color  that  gives  the  feeling ;  the  touch 
gives  the  control  over  it,  or  the  intensity.  In  125,  there  is  a  fine  illustration  of 
sudden  change  of  texture  and  color,  with  little  change  of  touch. 


108  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

124    I  sleep  and  rest,  my  heart  makes  moan,  before  I  am  well  awake. 
Let  me  bleed !  oh,  let  me  alone,  since  I  must  not  break ! 


125    Charge  !  Chester,  charge !    On  1  Stanley,  on ! 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion. 


Problem  XXII.  Take  a  variety  of  emotions,  and  vary  the  touch 
in  expressing  them  according  to  the  intensity  of  thought  or  of  feel- 
ing, but  give  the  touch  the  same  definite  and  decided  character. 

126    Nail,  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag,  set  every  threadbare  sail, 

And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms,  the  lightning  and  the  gale. 

Holme*. 


127    Being  above  all  beings !  Mighty  One, 

Whom  none  can  comprehend,  and  none  explore, 
Who  fill'st  existence  with  Thyself  alone,  — 
Embracing  all,  supporting,  ruling  o'er,  — 
Being  whom  we  call  God,  and  know  no  more ! 


128  There's  tempest  in  yon  horned  moon,  and  lightning  in  yon  cloud; 
And  hark  the  music,  mariners!  the  wind  is  piping  loud; 
The  wind  is  piping  loud,  my  boys,  the  lightning  flashes  free, 

While  the  hollow  oak  our  palace  is,  our  heritage  the  sea. 

. Cunningham. 

129  Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun,  nor  the  furious  winter's  rages; 
thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done,  home  art  gone,  and  ta'en  thy  wages: 
golden  lads  and  girls  all  must,  as  chimney  sweepers,  come  to  dust.  Fear 
■no  more  the  frown  o'  the  great,  thou  art  past  tbe  tyrant's  stroke;  care 
no  more  to  clothe  and  eat;  to  thee  the  reed  is  as  the  oak;  the  sceptre, 
learning,  physic,  must  all  follow  this,  and  come  to  dust.  Fear  no  more 
the  lightning  flash,  nor  the  all-dreaded  thunder-stone ;  fear  not  slander, 
censure  rash;  thou  hast  finish' d  joy  and  moan:  all  lovers  young,  all 
lovers  must  consign  to  thee,  and  come  to  dust. 

"Cymbeline."  Shakespeare. 

130  Mount,  child  of  morning,  mount  and  sing,  and  gaily  beat  thy 
fluttering  wing,  and  sound  thy  shrill  alarms ;  bathed  in  the  fountains  of 
the  dew  thy  sense  is  keen,  thy  joys  are  new;  the  wide  world  opens  to  thy 
view,  and  spreads  its  earliest  charms. 

Sing  on !  sing  on !  What  heart  so  cold,  when  such  a  tale  of  joy  is  told, 
but  needs  must  sympathize?  As  from  some  cherub  of  the  sky,  I  hail  thy 
morning  melody.  Oh,  could  I  mount  with  thee  on  high,  and  share  thy 
ecstasies !  Letitia  Barbauld. 


TOUCH.  109 

131.    THE  LEE  SHORE. 
Sleet  and  hail  and  thunder!  and  ye  winds  that  rave 
Till  the  sands  thereunder  tinge  the  sullen  wave,  — 
Winds  that  like  a  demon  howl,  with  horrid  note, 
Round  the  toiling  seaman  in  his  tossing  boat ! 
From  his  humble  dwelling,  on  the  shingly  shore, 
Where  the  billows  swelling  keep  such  hollow  roar;  — 
From  that  weeping  woman,  seeking  with  her  cries 
Succour  superhuman  from  the  frowning  skies ;  — 
From  the  urchin  pining  for  his  father's  knee;  — 
From  the  lattice  shining,  drive  him  out  to  sea!  — 
Let  broad  leagues  dissever  him  from  yonder  foam. 
O  God !  to  think  man  ever  comes  too  near  his  home.  Hood. 


132.    "MAKE  WAY  FOR  LIBERTY." 

"Make  way  for  Liberty!"  he  cried;  made  way  for  Liberty,  and  died! 
In  arms  the  Austrian  phalanx  stood,  a  living  wall,  a  human  wood!  a 
wall  where  every  conscious  stone  seemed  to  its  kindred  thousands  grown; 
a  rampart  all  assaults  to  bear,  till  Time  to  dust  their  frames  should  wear! 
.  .  .  Impregnable,  their  front  appears  all  horrent  with  projected  spears, 
whose  polished  points  before  them  shine,  from  flank  to  flank,  one  brilliant 
line,  bright  as  the  breakers,  splendours  run  along  the  billows  to  the  sun. 

Opposed  to  these,  a  hovering  band  contended  for  their  native  land; 
peasants,  whose  new-found  strength  had  broke  from  manly  necks  the 
ignoble  yoke,  and  forged  their  fetters  into  swords,  on  equal  terms  to 
fight  their  lords ;  and  what  insurgent  rage  had  gained,  in  many  a  mortal 
fray  maintained:  marshalled  once  more  at  Freedom's  call,  they  came  to 
conquer  or  to  fall.  .  .  .  And  now  the  work  of  life  and  death  hung  on  the 
passing  of  a  breath;  the  fire  of  conflict  burned  within,  the  battle  trembled 
to  begin :  yet  while  the  Austrians  held  their  ground,  point  for  attack  was 
nowhere  found;  where'er  the  impatient  Switzers  gazed,  the  unbroken 
line  of  lancers  blazed:  that  line  t'were  suicide  to  meet,  and  perish  at 
their  tyrant's  feet;  —  how  could  they  rest  within  their  graves,  and  leave 
their  homes,  the  homes  of  slaves,  would  they  not  feel  their  children  tread 
with  clanking  chains  above  their  head?  It  must  not  be:  this  day,  this 
hour,  annihilates  the  oppressor's  power;  all  Switzerland  is  in  the  field: 
she  will  not  fly,  she  cannot  yield,  — she  must  not  fall;  her  better  fate 
here  gives  her  an  immortal  date.  Few  were  the  numbers  she  could  boast, 
but  every  freeman  was  a  host,  and  felt  as  though  himself  were  he  on 
whose  sole  arm  hung  victory.     It  did  depend  on  one  indeed ;  behold  him, 


110  VOCAL  EXPRESSION". 

—  Arnold  Wihkelried !  there  sounds  not  to  the  trump  of  fame  the  echo 
of  a  nobler  name.  Unmarked  he  stood  amid  the  throng,  in  rumination 
deep  and  long,  till  you  might  see,  with  sudden  grace,  the  very  thought 
come  o'er  his  face,  and  by  the  motion  of  his  form  anticipate  the  bursting 
storm,  and,  by  the  uplifting  of  his  brow,  tell  where  the  bolt  would  strike, 
and  how.  But,  'twas  no  sooner  thought  than  done;  the  field  was  in  a 
moment  won.  "Make  way  for  Liberty!"  he  cried,  then  ran  with  arms 
extended  wide,  as  if  his  dearest  friend  to  clasp;  ten  spears  he  swept 
within  his  grasp:  " Make  way  for  Liberty!"  he  cried.  Their  keen  points 
met  from  side  to  side;  he  bowed  amongst  them  like  a  tree,  and  thus 
made  way  for  Liberty.  Swift  to  the  breach  his  comrades  fly;  "Make 
way  for  Liberty!"  they  cry,  and  through  the  Austrian  phalanx  dart,  as 
rushed  the  spears  through  Arnold's  heart;  while  instantaneous  as  his 
fall,  rout,  ruin,  panic,  scattered  all.  .  .  .  Thus  Switzerland  again  was  free; 
thus  Death  made  way  for  Liberty !  Montgomery. 


XV.     CENTRALIZATION. 


133    Like  to  the  falling  of  a  star, 
Or  as  the  flight  of  eagles  are, 
Or  like  the  fresh  spring's  gaudy  hue, 
Or  silver  drops  of  morning  dew, 
Or  like  a  wind  that  chafes  the  flood. 
Or  bubbles  which  on  water  stood,  — 
Even  such  is  man,  whose  borrowed  light 
Is  straight  called  in  and  paid  to-night: 
The  wind  blows  out,  the  bubble  dies ; 
The  spring  entombed  in  autumn  lies; 
The  dew's  dried  up,  the  star  is  shot, 
The  flight  is  past,  —  and  man  forgot ! 


rTTHERE  is  not  only  a  succession  of  ideas,  —  the  mind  is  not 
-*-  only  concentrated  first  upon  one  idea  and  then  upon  an- 
other,—  but  we  find  also  that  the  ideas  themselves  are  related  to 
each  other.  If  we  read  over  this  little  poem,  we  find  that  there 
is  one  word  which  is  the  centre  around  which  all  else  radiates. 
We  find  also  another  word  which  seems  a  predication  of  this. 
' Man  forgot,' really  includes  the  whole  poem;  all  other  words 
merely  illustrate  this,  and  make  it  clear  and  emphatic. 


CENTRALIZATION.  Ill 

To  illustrate,  in  the  first  line  we  find  the  word  '  star  *  as  the 
centre  of  our  interest ;  in  the  second,  '  eagle ' ;  in  the  third, 
'  spring ' ;  in  the  fourth, '  dew ' ;  in  the  fifth,  '  wind ' ;  in  the  sixth, 

*  bubble ' ;  —  and  then  the  attention  culminates  in  '  man,'  which 
stands  in  opposition  to  all  of  the  other  ideas.  The  accentuation 
of  the  word  '  man '  must  be  strong  enough  to  set  it  over,  —  not 
in  opposition  to  any  one  of  the  others,  nor  in  simple  sequence,  in 
the  same  category  with  these,  but  in  such  a  way  as  to  show  that 
it  is  the  one  point  referred  to  by  all  of  the  others.  It  stands  in 
antithesis  to  all  of  them. 

It  can  be  seen  at  once,  therefore,  that  this  is  something  differ- 
ent from  accentuation  :  it  is  the  manifestation  not  of  the  succes- 
sive ideas,  but  of  the  relation  of  these  ideas  to  some  central 
conception ;  it  is  the  giving  of  some  word  or  words  by  the  voice 
so  as  to  interpret  the  deeper  meaning  and  relationship  of  ideas. 

Taking  the  second  half  of  this  poem,  we  find  that  '  light '  is 
again  referred  to  and  somewhat  accentuated,  and  then  the  mind- 
predicates  of  it,  '  called  in '  and  '  paid  to-night.'  So  of  *  wind,' 
'  blows  out,'  of  '  bubble,'  '  dies,'  of  '  spring,'  '  autumn,'  of  '  dew,' 

*  dried  up,'  of  '  star,'  '  shot,'  of  '  flight,'  '  past.'  That  is  to  say, 
the  objects  which  have  formerly  been  accentuated  are  again 
referred  to,  and  certain  predicates  are  accentuated  side  by  side 
with  them ;  and  through  these  predicates  we  arrive  at  the  great 
logical  predicate  up  to  which  all  the  rest  lead,  '-forgot?  The 
whole  poem  may  be  summed  up  and  expressed  in  two  words,  — 
'  man,' '  forgot.'  The  leading  words  of  the  poem  may  be  printed 
something  like  this,  to  illustrate  their  relative  importance  :  — 

star,  eagle's,  spring's,  dew,  wind,  bubbles,  man. 
light  —  night;  wind  —  out;  bubble  —  dies;  spring  — 
autumn;  dew  —  dried  up^  star  —  shot;  flight — past;  man  —  forgot. 

From  this  we  see,  not  only  that  there  is  a  simple  succession 
of  ideas  or  words,  accentuated  with  reference  to  the  single  idea 
upon  which  the  mind  is  fixed,  but  also  that,  through  several  of 
these  accentuations,  the  mind  looks  forward  to  a  greater  central 


112  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

idea  or  purpose,  for  which  the  subordinate  ideas  are  given. 
Sometimes  the  mind  looks  backward  to  such  an  idea,  and  some- 
times both  backward  and  forward,  as  in  the  second  part  of  this 
little  poem. 

We  find  also,  in  this  poem,  that  there  are  several  subordinate 
accentuations,  that  are  not  recognized  in  the  words  above  men- 
tioned. For  example,  there  is  a  kind  of  suspensive  accentuation 
on  '  falling,'  after  which,  in  reading,  there  may  be  a  pause  before 
the  introductory  or  assertive  accentuation  on  '  star ' ;  this  causes 
a  more  vivid  apprehension  of  the  idea.  Again,  in  the  second 
half  of  the  poem,  there  are  retrospective  accentuations  upon 
'  borrowed  light,'  and  a  pause  before  making  the  assertion  'blows 
out' ;  and  so,  by  an  accent  upon  '■wind,''  and  a  pause,  there  is  a 
reminder  of  the  conception  of  this  at  the  first  of  the  poem,  — 
and  so  on.  These  words  are  accentuated,  but  not  in  the  same 
way  as  the  other  words  indicated.  Thus,  in  reading  and  speak- 
ing, not  only  are  the  successive  conceptions  of  the  mind  revealed, 
but  the  logical  connection  of  ideas,  and  the  method  of  the  mind 
in  thinking  is  also  shown  in  the  modulation  of  the  voice. 

A  centre  is  the  beginning  of  all  order.  In  every  living  or- 
ganism, plant  or  animal,  there  is  a  mysterious,  unseen  centre, 
from  which,  to  which,  and  about  which,  all  parts  seem  to  play, 
—  to  which  they  all  seem  subordinate,  and  from  which  they 
seem  to  receive  then*  meaning.  The  same  is  true  of  any  work 
of  art :  a  piece  of  music  has  its  keynote,  every  book  a  definite 
subject,  every  true  speech  a  central  proposition,  every  sermon  a 
text,  every  poem  one  central  idea.  Unity  is  a  fundamental  law 
of  nature  and  of  art.  The  aggregation  of  details,  no  matter  how 
well  given,  does  not  make  a  picture :  the  parts  must  be  brought 
into  relation  with  each  other,  —  one  point  must  be  salient  and 
the  rest  subordinate,  or  there  is  no  perspective,  or  unity  of  im- 
pression. All  parts  of  a  speech  must  have  direct  relation  to  a 
purpose,  or  the  result  is  chaotic  and  weak.  Hence,  in  some  way, 
not  only  must  words  be  so  spoken  as  to  show  the  rhythmic 


CENTRALIZATION.  113 

succession  of  ideas,  but  they  must  also  be  given  in  such  a  way 
as  to  reveal  their  logical  relation  to  each  other.  The  central 
ideas  or  aims  of  the  mind  must  be  made  salient,  and  the  sub- 
ordinate ideas,  by  which  they  are  reached,  must  be  so  accentu- 
ated as  to  lead  the  mind  of  the  listener  toward  the  final  con- 
clusion. 

There  are  at  least  two  modes  of  accentuating  ideas:  some 
minds  give  much  broader  relationships  than  others ;  they  make 
a  few  points  very  salient  and  emphatic ;  others  accentuate  each 
idea,  each  successive  concentration  of  the  mind,  seemingly  in 
almost  the  same  way  and  degree.  The  one  emphasizes  the  great 
salient  ideas,  interprets  thought  by  showing  its  great  ends  and 
purposes,  and  leaves  the  subordinate  steps  to  the  instinct  of  the 
hearer ;  the  other  interprets  thought  by  definitely  presenting  or 
accentuating  each  act  of  concentration  in  the  process  of  thinking, 
and  leaves  to  the  instinct  of  the  hearer  the  broad  conclusions 
and  relationships  of  these  several  steps  to  the  purpose  in  view. 
The  one  shows  the  road  by  indicating  the  great  land-marks  and 
landing-places,  and  leaves  the  hearer  more  free  to  find  his  own 
specific  steps ;  the  other  guides  the  hearer  from  step  to  step 
through  every  turn  of  the  ideas,  and  leaves  the  grand  points  of 
outlook,  the  broad  generalizations,  to  the  freer  action  of  the 
hearer's  own  intuition.  One  of  these  is  more  intuitive,  the  other 
more  rational ;  one  proceeds  from  step  to  step  more  by  instinct, 
the  other  more  by  deliberative  calculation ;  one  is  more  impul- 
sive, the  other  more  deliberative;  one  is  more  vivid  in  the 
realization  of  each  idea,  the  other  has  a  broader  and  more  com- 
prehensive grasp  of  abstract  thought ;  one  has  more  vivid  ideas 
of  individual  objects,  the  other  more  vivid  grasp  of  abstract  or 
general  truth. 

It  can  be  seen  that  actors,  in  speaking,  have  more  accentu- 
ation, while  great  reasoners  have  more  general  relationship,  or 
emphasis  of  great  centres.  Actresses  especially  have  greater 
accentuation  than  elocutionary  emphasis :  this  is  why  they  are 
8 


114  VOCAL  EXPEESSION. 

stronger  in  spontaneous  and  emotional  parts.  In  Portia's  noted 
speech  on  mercy,  where  there  is  a  broad,  deep-lying  purpose  to 
win  the  heart  of  the  Jew,  where,  in  short,  Shakespeare  makes 
Portia  almost  a  preacher,  or  at  least  uses  this  method  to  show 
her  power  to  think  as  a  lawyer,  —  she  accents  central  ideas  in 
the  broadest  and  most  rational  way,  so  as  to  dominate  the  reason 
of  the  Jew.  To  my  mind,  many  of  the  greatest  actresses  fail  to 
show  Portia's  power  to  think  and  to  emphasize  as  a  man. 
Shakespeare  here  makes  a  feminine  mind  temporarily  assume 
and  think  in  a  masculine  role. 

It  is  a  peculiar  fact  that  elocution  has  entirely  ignored  the 
rhythmic  accentuation  of  ideas,  and  has  held  to  the  broader 
relationship,  which  has  been  called  "  emphasis."  A  great  many 
artificial  systems  have  been  invented  "to  find  the  emphatic 
word,"  —  methods  of  very  subtle  "analysis,"  which  have  made 
reading  too  much  a  matter  of  ride,  and  often  stilted  and  mechan- 
ical. The  stage,  on  the  other  hand,  being  compelled  to  a 
constant  and  direct  study  of  nature,  has  been  more  free  from 
this  fault  in  the  case  of  the  best  artists.  In  fact,  they  have 
frequently  gone  to  the  other  extreme,  and  the  neglect  of  careful 
study  and  analysis  has  led  to  a  mere  superficial  drifting.  This 
distinction  is  important  because  it  shows  the  difference  between 
individual  minds.  To  endeavor  to  make  all  think  or  speak  alike, 
will  pervert  the  normal  and  spontaneous  action  of  the  mind,  and 
tend  to  make  speaking  artificial  and  mechanical.  There  must 
be  no  comparison,  even  of  one  of  these  methods  with  the  other ; 
each  mind  must  act  according  to  its  own  inherent  peculiarities 
of  organization. 

In  logic,  the  terms  Intension  and  Extension  are  applied  to 
the  relation  of  general  ideas  or  terms  to  specific  ideas  or  terms. 
The  term  *  tree '  has  greater  extension,  '  oak '  greater  intension, 
—  that  is  to  say,  the  term  '  oak '  has  more  '  marks,'  the  idea  im- 
plies a  more  intensive  grasp  of  characteristics ;  while  in  compre- 
hending the  idea   of   'tree,'   the   mind  has  a  more  extensive 


CENTRALIZATION.  115 

comprehension  of  objects,  —  a  larger  number  are  included  in 
the  term.  All  thinking  implies  these  two  things.  Some  minds, 
especially  artistic  and  poetic  minds,  have  more  intensive  ideas ; 
that  is,  each  idea  comprehends  more  individual  characteristics, 
while  a  scientific  mind  is  trained  to  have  more  comprehensive 
ideas :  knowledge  with  them  has  a  broader  relationship  of  class 
with  class.  Still,  all  thinking  requires  both  of  these  acts  of 
mind ;  every  process  of  thought  implies  them.  Types  of  mind 
only  rise  from  a  greater  accentuation  of  one  or  the  other.  Some 
think  with  more  intensive  realization  of  specific  conceptions ; 
others,  with  broader  relations,  and  more  general  or  extensive 
conceptions.  The  two  types  of  readers  and  speakers*  grow  out 
of  these  two  elemental  actions  of  the  mind.  The  ideal  reader 
or  speaker  uses  both  more  or  less. 

There  are  thus  two  modes  of  emphasis.  In  great  passion  we 
find  a  method  by  accentuation  more  predominant.  Notice,  for 
example,  in  the  following  extract  from  Shakespeare,  where  the 
deep  intensity  of  feeling  and  the  silent  night,  and,  possibly, 
some  suggestion  of  the  lyric  situation,  causes  speech  to  pulsate 
deeply.  There  is  very  little  inflection ;  nearly  all  the  sequence 
is  by  attack,  and  it  is  almost  like  recitative. 


134  Done  to  death  by  slanderous  tongues  was  the  hero  that  here  lies: 
Death,  in  guerdon  of  her  wrongs,  gives  her  fame  which  never  dies. 
So  the  life  that  died  with  shame  lives  in  death  with  glorious  fame. 
Hang  thou  there  upon  the  tomb,  praising  her  when  I  am  dumb. 
"  Much  Ado  About  Nothing."  Shakespeare. 

Usually,  however,  there  is  a  union  of  both  methods.  While 
in  great  passion  the  rhythmic  touch  and  method  of  emphasis  by 
attack  tends  to  predominate,  still,  often  both  must  be  present,  as 
in  Shelley's  "  Ode  to  the  West  Wind,"  the  most  passionate  lyric, 
perhaps,  in  the  language. 

In  Psalm  XIX.  unless  the  word  *  law,'  in  the  seventh  verse, 
is  strongly  accentuated,  the  unity  of  the  Psalm  is  entirely  lost. 


116  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

Many  critics  think  that  the  last  part  has  been  patched  on ;  but, 
even  granting  it  was  written  by  another  hand,  it  complements 
the  references  to  nature  in  the  first  six  verses  of  the  Psalm. 
'  Law '  in  the  second  part  is  contrasted  to  nature  in  the  first.  It 
can  be  read  so  as  to  show  entire  unity  by  contrast.  '  Law '  must 
be  so  accentuated  as  to  stand  over  against  all  that  precedes,  — 
so  as  to  show  that  the  mind  at  this  point  changes  the  whole 
current  of  ideas.  The  qualities,  also,  which  are  asserted  of 
'law,'  can  be  given  as  implied  contrasts  to  the  qualities  of 
nature.  Nature  does  not  tell  us  all.  The  Bible  makes  '  perfect.' 
Nature  stimulates  the  mind,  law  restores  the  '  soul.'  The  law 
is  'sure,'  whereas  nature  does  not  give  certain  knowledge 
regarding  God  and  immortality.  Nature  gives  great  knowledge 
to  the  scientific  and  the  educated ;  the  Bible  makes  '  wise  the 
simple.'  All  the  expressions  at  the  first  of  these  verses  are 
synonymous  with  law.  Only  the  first  is  to  be  accentuated. 
Pauses  can  be  introduced  before  the  last  in  such  a  way  as  to 
show  the  application  of  one  or  both  of  these  teachers. 

Problem  XXIII.  Meditate  over  a  poem,  or  passage,  and  be- 
come conscious  of  one  centre  upon  which  the  whole  depends,  and 
so  read  as  to  show  the  relation  of  all  the  parts  to  this  centre. 


135    Take  the  bright  shell  from  its  home  on  the  lea, 
And  wherever  it  goes  it  will  sing  of  the  sea ; 
So  take  the  fond  heart  from  its  home  and  its  hearth, 
It  will  sing  of  the  loved  to  the  ends  of  the  earth. 


Anon. 


136.    THE  TWO  VOICES. 


The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God ;  and  the  firmament  sheweth  his 
handywork.  Day  unto  day  uttereth  speech,  and  night  unto  night  shew- 
eth knowledge.  There  is  no  speech  nor  language ;  their  voice  cannot  be 
heard.  Their  line  is  gone  out  through  all  the  earth,  and  their  words  to 
the  end  of  the  world.  In  them  hath  he  set  a  tabernacle  for  the  sun, 
which  is  as  a  bridegroom  coming  out  of  his  chamber,  and  rejoiceth  as  a 
strong  man  to  run  his  course.    His  going  forth  is  from  the  end  of  the 


CENTRALIZATION.  117 

heaven,  and  his  circuit  unto  the  ends  of  it:  and  there  is  nothing  hid  from 
the  heat  thereof. 

The  law  of  the  Lord  is  perfect,  restoring  the  soul :  the  testimony  of 
the  Lord  is  sure,  making  wise  the  simple.  The  precepts  of  the  Lord  are 
right,  rejoicing  the  heart:  the  commandment  of  the  Lord  is  pure,  en- 
lightening the  eyes.  The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  clean,  enduring  forever: 
the  judgments  of  the  Lord  are  true,  and  righteous  altogether.  More  to 
be  desired  are  they  than  gold,  yea,  than  much  fine  gold:  sweeter  also 
than  honey  and  the  honey-comb. 

Moreover  by  them  is  thy  servant  warned :  in  keeping  of  them  there  is 
great  reward.  Who  can  discern  his  errors?  Clear  thou  me  from  hidden 
faults.  Keep  back  thy  servant  also  from  presumptuous  sins;  let  them 
not  have  dominion  over  me :  then  shall  I  be  perfect,  and  I  shall  be  clear 
from  great  transgressions.  Let  the  words  of  my  mouth  and  the  medi- 
tation of  my  heart  be  acceptable  in  thy  sight,  O  Lord,  my  rock,  and  my 
redeemer.  Psalm  XIX. 

137    Bow  down,  dear  Land,  for  thou  hast  found  release! 
Thy  God,  in  these  distempered  days, 
Hath  taught  thee  the  sure  wisdom  of  His  ways, 
And  through  thine  enemies  hath  wrought  thy  peace ! 
"Commemoration  Ode."  James  Russell  Lowell. 

XVI.    CONVERSATIONAL  POEM, 

HPHE  voice  in  conversation  manifests  not  only  the  successive 
-*-  ideas,  but  also  the  broadest  logical  relations.  It  can  make 
one  word  of  a  poem  salient,  and  all  other  words  subordinate. 
How  does  it  do  this  ?  In  order  to  answer  this  question,  we  must 
study  more  carefully  the  elements  of  conversational  naturalness, 
of  conversational  form.  Listen  to  some  one  speaking  the  sim- 
plest sentence :  there  are  pauses,  an  attack  upon  every  central 
word,  constant  changes  of  pitch,  and  an  inflection  upon  every 
word.  These  are  the  fundamental  characteristics  of  naturalness. 
They  combine  in  many  ways,  and  vary  in  infinite  degrees ;  they 
are  never  exactly  the  same  in  two  men,  or  even  in  two  succes- 
sive clauses,  but  they  are  always  present. 

We  find  that  changes  of  pitch  especially  combine  with  in- 
flection, and  produce  in  the  shortest  phrase  a  specific  and  ele- 


118  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

mental  form.  There  is  a  salient  inflection  in  each  leading 
clause,  which  governs  subordinate  inflections  and  changes  of 
pitch.  The  accentuation  or  extension  of  this  elemental  form  is 
the  means  by  which  the  voice  manifests  the  great  central  idea 
of  the  mind.  In  order  to  develop  the  power  of  emphasis,  there- 
fore, we  must  develop  the  flexibility  of  the  voice,  and  secure 
power  to  execute  the  elements  in  this  natural  form.  Art  is 
preceded  by  a  certain  mechanical  expertness.  Not  only  so,  but 
art  implies  a  certain  sense  of  form.  In  order  to  speak  natu- 
rally to  a  thousand  people,  we  must  have  such  a  command  of 
conversational  form  as  to  be  able  to  extend  the  subtleties  of 
conversation  without  eliminating  any  one  of  them,  or  destroying 
the  proportion. 

The  chief  elements  of  Melody,  or  Vocal  Form,  are  change  of 
pitch  and  inflection.  Pauses,  and  intervals  of  pitch,  take  place 
between  words  and  phrases ;  inflection,  in  the  central  vowel  of 
the  word.  Intervals,  as  the  word  is  here  used,  are  changes  of 
pitch  between  words  during  silence  however  momentary,  but 
inflections  are  changes  of  pitch  during  the  emission  of  the  sound. 
Rush  called  changes  of  pitch  'discrete  intervals,'  and  inflec- 
tions 'concrete  intervals.'  Of  these  two  elements,  possibly 
inflection  is  the  most  elemental  and  essential  effect  or  sign  of 
the  domination  of  mind  over  the  voice.  Absence  of  inflection 
denotes  an  absence  of  specific  thinking,  conviction,  and  earnest- 
ness, or  of  any  relation  of  ideas  to  another  mind.  Inflection 
marks  the  specific  difference  between  speech  and  song.  Sing- 
song, or  absence  of  inflection,  results  when  the  mind  drifts  in 
thought  or  feeling,  or  whenever  the  mind  is  focussed  merely 
upon  the  form  for  its  own  sake,  as  in  proof-reading.  Inflection, 
therefore,  is  only  absent  in  certain  abnormal  forms  of  speech ;  it 
is  always  present  as  a  most  essential  mark  of  conversation.  Its 
immediate  cause  is  the  focus  of  the  mind  ;  it  marks  the  central 
word  of  the  phrase  upon  which  the  mind  is  concentrated,  or  the 
relation  of  other  words  to  this,  or  of  ideas  to  a  hearer. 


CONVERSATIONAL   FORM.  119 

This  must  be  recognized  by  the  student.  Suppose  a  person 
comes  in  and  gives  this  as  simple  news :  '  I  saw  your  father  this 
morning.'  "We  find  in  observing  the  way  we  speak  this  simple 
sentence,  several  facts.  First,  there  is  a  governing  inflection  in 
the  word  which  stands  for  the  central  idea  of  the  mind ;  the 
word  *  father '  has  a  falling  inflection  which  is  longer  and  more 
sailent  than  that  upon  any  other  word  in  the  sentence.  Sec- 
ondly, all  the  other  words  in  the  sentence  or  clause  are  brought 
into  relationship  with  the  emphatic  word,  so  that  there  is  an 
inflection  upon  every  word.  The  words  before  the  central  one 
have  a  slight  rising,  and  the  words  following  the  central  one 
have  a  falling  inflection.  Thirdly,  there  are  changes  of  pitch 
between  these  inflections  in  the  same  direction  as  the  inflection 
upon  the  preceding  word.  Thus  all  the  words  of  the  phrase  are 
brought  into  one  melodic  form,  which  may  be  illustrated  in 
space,  though  of  course  not  adequately,  by  the  direction,  abrupt- 
ness, length,  and  distance  apart  of  the  following  lines :  — 


%v 


% 


We  find,  also,  that  there  are  certain  places  where  pauses  are 
introduced  in  conversation.  The  one  which  is  most  indicative 
of  emphasis  is  after  the  emphatic  inflection. 

If  we  read  such  a  sentence  without  accentuation,  or  by  oblit- 
erating this  form,  it  becomes  mechanical  and  monotonous,  and 
conversational  naturalness  is  entirely  destroyed.  If  we  read  the 
words  on  a  straight  line,  accenting  the  central  word  by  stress  of 
loudness,  there  is  something  wrong;  it  is  not  natural.  We 
must  have  these  characteristics,  in  giving  an  affirmation :    The 


120  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

first  words  in  the  phrase  must  be  given  with  a  suspensive,  rising 
inflection,  beginning  low  and  climbing  by  changes  of  pitch 
between  the  words,  as  well  as  by  inflections  ;  then  we  must  ac- 
centuate the  central  word  with  a  falling  inflection  from  a  still 
higher  pitch,  and  the  following  words  must  be  given  with  fall- 
ing inflections,  and  lower  in  pitch,  or  in  subordination. 

The  elements  of  conversational  form  may  be  more  clearly  ap- 
prehended when  we  study  their  presence  in  meaningless  syllables. 
If  we  take,  for  example,  these  meaningless  syllables,  la,  le,  lo, 
loo,  accentuating  each  one  in  succession,  we  shall  see  at  once 
how  the  concentration  of  the  mind  reveals  itself,  and  how  such 
vocal  action  awakens  attention  in  another  mind. 

V   A  A  A 


Or  we  may  take  these  four  syllables,  and  arrange  them  with 
rising  and  falling  inflections  upon  the  successive  sounds  in  such 
a  way  as  to  make  them  seem  like  actual  conversation.  They 
may  be  given  with  greater  emphasis,  so  as  to  make  them  appear 
as  if  they  were  the  expression  of  animated  thinking  and  earnest 
discussion. 

Whatever  syllables  may  be  taken,  when  the  mind  holds  one 
as  the  centre  of  them  all,  the  voice  gives  that  one  such  a  saliency 
of  inflection  and  pitch  that  the  others  are  gathered  in  subordin- 
ation, and  some  such  vocal  form  is  the  result.  This  vocal  form, 
or  sentential  accent  or  melody,  whatever  it  may  be  called,  is 
slightly  different  in  every  language,  and  even  in  the  dialects  of 


CONVERSATIONAL    FORM.  121 

the  same  language.  It  has  a  slight  variation,  also,  with  different 
individuals,  but  the  principle  holds  true  that  such  an  elemental 
form  or  inflectional  grouping  of  words  is  the  fundamental  char- 
acteristic of  all  naturalness.  So  important  is  this  elemental  form, 
that,  nine-tenths  of  the  time,  when  the  most  ignorant  auditor 
says  that  a  man  does  not  speak  naturally,  reference  is  made  in- 
stinctively to  some  perversion  of  this  conversational  form.  Form 
in  art  is  the  most  important  element.  Even  a  shadow  which  is 
an  effect  of  light  upon  form  is  more  important  than  color.  In 
proportion  to  the  degree  of  emphasis  is  this  form  developed  or 
extended ;  that  is  to  say,  the  inflections  and  the  intervals  are 
longer,  and  the  range  of  voice  is  greater.  An  interrogative 
melody  gives  the  central  word  with  a  rising  inflection,  and  the 
following  words  in  the  phrase  are  subordinated,  and  also  given 
with  rising  inflections  above  the  central  word. 

Though  conversation  is  free  and  varied,  if  we  cause  the  voice 
to  leap  at  random,  the  reading  is  chaotic  and  not  natural.  There 
is  not  only  variety  in  conversation,  but  there  is  also  order  and 
unity,  and  progression  in  this  variety ;  and  this  order  we  shall 
find  later,  is  determined  by  the  nature  of  thinking. 

As  all  art  is  founded  upon  the  study  of  nature,  it  can  be  seen 
at  once  that  the  study  of  conversation  is  most  essential  to  the 
development  of  Vocal  Expression.  There  is  no  rule  or  system 
which  can  be  substituted  for  careful  study  of  naturalness  in  con- 
versation.    Nor  can  naturalness  be  developed  by  imitation. 

There  are  two  ways  of  studying  nature :  one  is  to  observe  it 
superficially,  and  so  master  the  accidents ;  the  other  is  to  observe 
it  with  great  care,  and  get  possession  of  the  essential  elements. 
The  importance  of  essentials  in  developing  naturalness  in  con- 
versation or  in  artistic  training  cannot  be  overestimated.  All 
training,  to  accomplish  good  results,  must  consist  in  work  upon 
elementals.  When  essentials  are  developed,  power  is  the  result, 
but  when  accidentals  are  accentuated,  the  effect  is  weak  and 
mediocre.    Whenever  art  has  died  in  any  age  it  has  been  chiefly 


122  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

through  too  much  attention  to  detail  and  outward  polish.  The 
endeavor  to  copy  the  mere  beauty  of  Raphael  ended  in  the  mere 
polish  of  men  like  Guido  Reni.  Great  art  has  always  shown  a 
direct  study  of  the  fundamental  elements  of  nature  herself.  This 
principle  applies  to  all  artistic  training,  but  it  is  especially  im- 
portant when  we  come  to  develop  naturalness  of  melody  in 
conversation.  In  observing  the  direct  effects  of  thought  and 
feeling  upon  tone  in  conversation,  we  must  note  carefully  the 
essentials  or  elements  which  do  not  change,  and  which  are  com- 
mon to  all  people. 

Essentials  are  tested  in  many  ways.  They  are  fundamentally 
necessary;  they  are  common  to  all  occasions  and  to  all  men. 
Elements  are  always  few  in  number,  and  include  and  explain  all 
accidents.  Perhaps  the  greatest  test  is  that  of  use.  Accentuate 
fundamentals,  and  we  secure  power;  exaggeration  increases 
emphasis ;  but  accentuate  accidents,  and  perversion  or  weakness, 
is  seen  at  once.  Thus  exaggerate  any  accidental  or  occasional 
element  of  conversation,  such  as  loudness,  or  circumflex  inflec- 
tions, or  even  variety,  and  the  melody  will  be  abnormal  and 
chaotic;  but  accentuate  change  of  pitch,  inflection,  and  pause, 
or  the  fundamental  elements  already  found,  and  the  result  will 
be  greater  strength  and  power.  These  elements  are  always 
present  in  conversation,  and  transcend  all  accidental  elements  in 
proportion  to  the  dignity  or  earnestness  of  the  speaker. 

We  find  here  another  illustration  of  the  importance  of  re- 
sponsiveness. The  voice  must  directly  respond  to  the  action  of 
the  mind,  and  it  must  be  in  such  a  state  of  flexibility  that  this 
response  will  at  once  take  place.  Some  voices  become  so  me- 
chanical and  rigid  from  habit  that  there  is  no  response  whatever 
to  successive  ideas.  To  improve  the  flexibility  and  naturalness 
of  conversation,  therefore,  we  must  improve  the  flexibility  of 
the  voice.  Singers  have  a  method  of  doing  this  by  practising 
scales ;  but  while  this  is  good  in  singing,  it  does  not  always  re- 
sult in  flexibility  of  voice  in  speech. 


CONVERSATIONAL,    FORM.  123 

Inflection  is  the  fundamental  element  of  form  in  Vocal  Ex- 
pression, and  is  of  vital  importance :  its  development  is  one  of 
the  most  important  points  in  the  training  of  the  voice  in  speak- 
ing. The  right  action  of  the  voice  in  inflection  belongs  to 
Vocal  Training.  Vocal  Expression  must  take  for  granted  the 
right  production  of  the  inflection  itself,  the  proper  control  of 
breath,  the  free  and  open  emission  of  the  tone,  and  the  flexible 
action  of  the  vocal  cords,  and  must  study  the  meaning  of  inflec- 
tion, its  relation  to  naturalness  and  effectiveness  in  speaking,  the 
faults  in  its  use,  its  relation  to  thinking  and  feeling,  to  change  of 
pitch,  pause,  tone-color,  and  to  other  modes  of  expression.  Right 
work  upon  the  fundamental  form,  however,  will  be  found  to  de- 
velop flexibility  of  the  voice ;  it  will  also  train  the  ear  so  that  the 
mind  can  more  easily  observe  conversational  form.  Such  a 
method  has  always  been  found  successful  in  the  development  of 
conversational  naturalness.  A  person  who  has  hardly  any  inflec- 
tion, by  a  little  work  upon  this,  will  at  once  show  improvement. 

Problem  XXIV.  Speak  naturally  a  short  sentence  of  five  or  six 
words  having  one  idea.  Notice  the  conversational  form,  and  then 
give  meaningless  syllables,  such  as  counting,  in  the  same  form,  then 
extend  the  form  in  different  degrees  without  increasing  loudness. 

Problem  XXV.  Bead  or  recite  passages  with  the  simplicity 
and  variety  of  conversation. 

138.    TU   QUOQUE. 
Nellie.     If  I  were  you,  when  ladies  at  the  play,  sir, 
Beckon  and  nod,  a  melodrama  through, 
I  would  not  turn  abstractedly  away,  sir, 
If  I  were  you  ! 
Frank.     If  I  were  you,  when  persons  I  affected, 

Wait  for  three  hours  to  take  me  down  to  Kew, 
I  would,  at  least,  pretend  I  recollected, 
If  I  were  you  ! 
Nellie.    If  I  were  you,  when  ladies  are  so  lavish, 

Sir,  as  to  keep  me  every  waltz  but  two, 
I  would  not  dance  with  odious  Miss  M'Tavish, 
If  I  were  you ! 


124 


VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 


Frank.     If  I  were  you,  who  vow  you  cannot  suffer 

Whiff  of  the  best,  —  the  mildest  honey-dew, 
I  would  not  dance  with  smoke-consuming  Puffer, 

If  I  were  you ! 
Nellie.     If  I  were  you,  I  would  not,  sir,  be  bitter, 

Even  to  write  the  Cynical  Review; 
Frank.    No,  I  should  doubtless  find  flirtation  fitter, 

If  I  were  you ! 
Nellie.    Really!  You  would?   Why,  Frank,  you're  quite  delightful,— 

Hot  as  Othello,  and  as  black  of  hue; 
Borrow  my  fan.     I  would  not  look  so  frightful, 

If  I  were  you. 
Frank.     It  is  the  cause.     I  mean  your  chaperone  is 

Bringing  some  well-curled  juvenile.     Adieu! 
I  shall  retire.    I'd  spare  that  poor  Adonis, 

If  I  were  you! 
Nellie.     Go,  if  you  will.     At  once!    And  by  express,  sir; 

Where  shall  it  be?     To  China  —  or  Peru? 
Go!     I  should  leave  inquirers  my  address,  sir, 

If  I  were  you ! 
Frank.     No, — I  remain.     To  stay  and  fight  a  duel 

Seems,  on  the  whole,  the  proper  thing  to  do — 
Ah,  you  are  strong,  —  I  would  not  then  be  cruel, 

If  I  were  you ! 

Nellie.     One  does  not  like  one's  feelings  to  be  doubted,  — 

Frank.     One  does  not  like  one's  friends  to  misconstrue. 

Nellie.     If  I  confess  that  I  a  wee-bit  pouted?  — 

Frank.    I  should  admit  that  I  was  pique,  too. 

Nellie.    Ask  me  to  dance.     I'd  say  no  more  about  it, 

If  I  were  you! 

Henry  Austin  Dobson. 


139  Study  a  stream  closely.  There  are  books  to  be  found  in  the  run- 
ning brooks.  How  musical  that  ever-sounding,  ever-varying  voice! 
Loud  or  low,  its  full  sonorous  note  fills  but  never  grates  upon  the  ear. 
It  speaks  in  tones  of  unnumbered  meanings,  — doleful  or  joyous,  as  the 
mood  of  the  listener  may  be. 

Light  and  shadow  hold  revelry  on  its  bosom,  reflection  doubling  the 
beauty  on  its  margin.  Now,  beneath  the  shadow  of  that  sombre  crag, 
with  the  mountain-ash  nodding  from  its  crest,  the  very  darkness  of 
despair  inspires  it.     Anon  it  leaps  into  the  daylight  with  a  merry  bound, 


CONVERSATIONAL   FORM.  125 

mocking  the  old  gray  rocks  with  perennial  laughter ;  now  it  relaxes  its 
headlong  pace,  assumes  a  grave  and  stately  march,  widening  and  ex- 
panding its  crystal  surface  with  meek  and  composed  dignity;  then,  bid- 
ding all  proprieties  adieu,  rushes  in  frantic  cataract  into  the  very  pit  of 
Avernus,  and  seems  to  leave  sight  and  hope  behind.  It  is  the  very  pain 
of  Nature's  beauty,  so  suggestive  of  pure  enjoyment,  that  the  earth-born 
fancy  moves  too  slowly,  and  the  forms  crowd  so  swiftly  by  that  they  elude 
our  grasp. 

All  very  fine,  you  will  say.  But  what  is  all  this  to  do  with  trout-fishing ; 
Do  you  really  think  that  these  charms  are  only  disclosed  to  a  stick  and  a 
string,  with  a  hook  at  one  end  and  yourself  at  the  other? 

Thus  I  reply.  In  the  first  place,  but  for  trout-fishing  I  should  never 
have  seen  them ;  and  as  you  never  fish,  you  have  never  seen  them.  But 
were  you  a  brother  of  the  rod,  you  would  know  that  between  the  man  who 
walks  and  the  man  who  fishes  along  the  bank,  there  is  as  much  difference 
as  between  one  who  lives  with  a  great  man  and  one  who  only  knows  him 
to  bow  to.     One  knows  his  bodily  presence;  the  other,  his  ethereal  spirit. 

.  .  .  But  you  speak  of  the  claims  of  humanity,  tenderness  to  the  dumb 
animals,  the  mute  fishes.  I  am,  you  say,  a  brute  and  a  barbarian,  be- 
cause with 

"  "Well-fashioned  hook 

I  lure  the  incautious  troutling  from  the  brook." 

I  deny  the  charge,  and  shall  disprove  it  by  better  logic  than  your  legal 
brain  can  command. 

Confront  me  with  my  adversary.  Come  out,  you  old  speckled  hypocrite, 
from  that  deep,  dark  den,  overhung  with  alders,  on  the  evil  deeds  of 
which  no  sunbeam  ever  shone.  Nay,  I  have  thee  fast.  Plunge  not,  wriggle 
not,  jump  not.  It  is  all  in  vain.  There  —  now  I  stretch  thee  on  the 
stones.  Come  up  the  bank,  and  before  I  bestow  on  thee  the  fatal  whack, 
and  consign  thee  to  the  basket,  plead  for  thy  wicked  life. 

How  sayest  thou  ?  Is  it  cruel  to  tear  thee  from  thy  home,  to  delight  in 
thy  despairing  struggles,  to  butcher  thee  to  make  a  holiday?  All  very 
fine,  thou  scourge  of  thy  race.  Tell  me,  with  thy  dying  gasp,  when  thy 
maw  shall  be  opened  by  remorseless  cooks,  what  will  be  disclosed?  A 
coil  of  red  worms,  many  May-flies,  and  oh !  monster  of  the  deep,  a  young 
trout,  one  of  thine  own-family,  the  dainty  on  which  thou  didst  dine.  And 
pratest  thou  to  me  of  humanity  ?  Nay,  when  lured  by  my  skill  thy  fatal 
bound  was  made,  did'st  thou  not  mean  to  extinguish  a  bright  young  life, 
reckless  of  its  sufferings,  and  forgetful  of  the  surfeit  of  the  morning? 
What  !  It  is  your  natural  food  ?  And  thou  art  mine,  thou  canting  de- 
stroyer.    Take  that  —  I  shall  eat  thee  for  my  breakfast.  Anon. 


126  VOCAX   EXPRESSION. 

Problem  XXVI.  Head  a  simple  passage  and  a  forcible  one, 
enlarging  and  accentuating,  but  preserving  in  the  second  all  the 
elements  found  in  the  conversational  utterance  of  the  first;  or 
speak  the  same  sentence  to  one  person  and  then  to  a  thousand,  and 
simply  enlarge  the  conversational  form. 


140  A  country  must  always  be  either  gaming  or  losing  its  liberty. 

141  Go  home,  if  you  dare,  to  your  constituents,  and  tell  them  that 
you  voted  it  down !  Meet  those  who  sent  you  here,  and  tell  them  that 
you  shrank  from  the  declaration  of  your  own  sentiments  —  that,  you  can- 
not tell  how,  but  that  some  unknown  dread,  some  indefinable  danger 
affrighted  you  —  that  the  spectres  of  cimeters,  and  crowns,  and  crescents, 
gleamed  before  you,  and  alarmed  you ;  and  that  you  suppressed  all  the 
noble  feelings  prompted  by  religion,  by  liberty,  by  national  independence, 
and  by  humanity ! 

142.    EXPOSTULATION  AND  EEPLY. 

'  Why,  William,  on  that  old  gray  stone,  thus  for  the  length  of  half  a 
day,  why,  William,  sit  you  thus  alone,  and  dream  your  time  away? 
Where  are  your  books?  —  that  light  bequeathed  to  beings  else  forlorn 
and  blind!  Up!  up!  and  drink  the  spirit  breathed  from  dead  men  to 
their  kind.  You  look  round  on  your  Mother  Earth,  as  if  she  for  no  pur- 
pose bore  you ;  as  if  you  were  her  first-born  birth,  and  none  had  ever  lived 
before  you ! ' 

One  morning  thus,  by  Esthwaite  lake,  when  life  was  sweet,  I  knew  not 
why,  to  me  my  good  friend  Matthew  spake,  and  thus  I  made  reply: 
'  The  eye  —  it  cannot  choose  but  see;  we  cannot  bid  the  ear  be  still;  our 
bodies  feel,  where'er  they  be,  against  or  with  our  will.  Nor  less  I  deem 
that  there  are  powers  which  of  themselves  our  minds  impress ;  that  we 
can  feed  this  mind  of  ours  in  a  wise  passiveness.  Think  you,  'mid  all 
this  mighty  sum  of  things  forever  speaking,  that  nothing  of  itself  will 
come,  but  we  must  still  be  seeking !  Then  ask  not  wherefore,  here,  alone, 
conversing  as  I  may,  I  sit  upon  this  old  gray  stone,  and  dream  my  time 
away.'  Wordsworth. 

143.    THE  TABLES  TUENED, 
Up!  up!  my  friend,  and  quit  your  books;  or  surely  you'll  grow  double. 
Up !  up !  my  friend,  and  clear  your  looks ;  why  all  this  toil  and  trouble  ? 
The  sun,  above  the  mountain's  head,  a  freshening  lustre  mellow  through 
all  the  long,  green  fields  has  spread,  his  first  sweet  evening  yellow. 


METHOD  OF  THOUGHT  AND  WORDS.  127 

Books!  'tis  a  dull  and  endless  strife:  come,  hear  the  woodland  linnet, 
how  sweet  his  music!  on  my  life,  there's  more  of  wisdom  in  it.  And 
hark!  how  blithe  the  throstle  sings!  He,  too,  is  no  mean  preacher: 
come  forth  into  the  light  of  things,  let  Nature  be  your  teacher.  She  has 
a  world  of  ready  wealth,  our  minds  and  hearts  to  bless  —  spontaneous 
wisdom  breathed  by  health,  truth  breathed  by  cheerfulness. 

One  impulse  from  a  vernal  wood  may  teach  you  more  of  man,  of  moral 
evil  and  of  good,  than  all  the  sages  can.  Sweet  is  the  lore  which  Nature 
brings;  our  meddling  intellect  misshapes  the  beauteous  form  of  things: 
we  murder  to  dissect.  Enough  of  Science  and  of  Art;  close  up  those 
barren  leaves ;  come  forth,  and  bring  with  you  a  heart  that  watches  and 
receives.  Wordsworth. 


XVII.    METHOD  OP  THOUGHT  AND  WOEDS. 


144       Bassanio.  Sweet  Portia, 

If  you  did  know  to  whom  I  gave  the  ring, 
If  you  did  know  for  whom  I  gave  the  ring, 
And  would  conceive  for  what  I  gave  the  ring, 
And  how  unwillingly  I  left  the  ring, 
When  naught  would  be  accepted  but  the  ring, 
You  would  abate  the  strength  of  your  displeasure. 

Portia.  If  you  had  known  the  virtue  of  the  ring, 
Or  half  her  worthiness  that  gave  the  ring, 
Or  your  own  honor  to  contain  the  ring, 
You  would  not  then  have  parted  with  the  ring, 


Shakespeare. 


TN  this  extract  from  the  "  Merchant  of  Venice,"  the  repetition 
-1-  of  the  same  phrases  will  serve  as  an  illustration  of  the  rela- 
tion of  words  to  the  thought  which  lies  beneath  them.  The 
fact  that  Bassanio  has  given  away  his  ring  is  implied,  as  he  steps 
forward  to  make  a  plea  to  Portia.  The  first  point  he  presents 
to  her  is  the  person  to  whom  the  ring  was  given,  his  aim  being 
to  concentrate  her  mind  upon  this  idea.  In  the  next  line  he 
refers  to  Antonio,  and  this  change  of  person  is  indicated  by  the 
little  word  '  for.'  But  for  this,  the  two  lines  would  be  exactly 
the  same.  In  the  following  line,  although  there  is  a  great 
change  of  words,  yet  the  ideas,  with  one  exception,  are  the 


128  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

same.  He  might  have  said,  "  If  you  did  know  for  what  I  gave 
the  ring,"  making  only  one  change,  the  word  '  what.'  Accent- 
uation of  this  word  shows  the  change  in  the  centre  of  attention. 
So  in  the  next  line,  the  sense  would  he  conveyed  if  he  had  said, 
"  If  you  did  know  how  unwillingly  I  gave  the  ring."  The  word 
« unwillingly '  of  course  shows  the  change  of  thought. 

All  this  illustrates  the  fact  that  many  words  in  every  clause 
are  logically  pro-nominal ;  that  is,  they  stand  for  ideas  which 
have  already  been  introduced  to  the  mind,  while  some  one  word 
is  used  to  present  a  new  idea  to  the  mind.  This  word  shows  the 
centre  of  attention,  while  the  rest  simply  show  the  connection 
of  this  idea  with  previous  centres  of  thought ;  they  bring  up  in 
the  background  ideas  which  make  clear,  but  are  entirely  sub- 
ordinate to  this  central  one.  The  central  idea  is  essential,  the 
others  are  adjunctive ;  this  is  substantial,  the  others  are  acci- 
dental ;  this  is  a  logical  substantive,  the  others  are  logically  pro- 
nominal ;  this  is  presented  to  the  mind,  the  others  are  assumed ; 
this  is  introduced,  the  others  are  implied ;  this  is  a  step  in  the 
progression  of  thought,  this  is  new,  additional,  and  deferential  to 
the  thought,  the  others  are  retrospective  and  familiar. 

A  word  standing  for  a  central  idea  is  substantive;  words 
standing  for  the  other  class  of  ideas  are  logical  pronouns,  or 
mere  qualifiers.  Thus  only  an  occasional  word  stands  for  an 
idea  which  is  essential  to  the  logical  sequence  of  the  thought ; 
the  other  words  simply  bring  forward  ideas  which  have  already 
been  conceived.  The  similarity  of  the  conceptions  of  the  mind 
in  this  selection  are  shown  by  the  use  of  the  same  words ;  but 
this  is  rarely  the  case.  Usually  there  is  a  use  of  synonymous, 
or  pro-nominal,  or  adjective  phrases;  but  the  voice  must  sub- 
ordinate them  according  to  their  relation  to  the  centre  of  the 
mind's  attention,  to  the  method  and  logical  progression  of  the 
thought.  We  can  have  but  one  central  idea  before  the  mind  at 
one  time ;  all  others  at  that  instant  are  necessarily  secondary 
and   subordinate.     It  is  this  action  of  the  mind   expressed  in 


METHOD    OF    THOUGHT    AND    WOEDS.  129 

words,  and  revealing  itself  through  the  voice,  that  causes  the 
form  or  variation  of  conversation.  The  words  standing  for  the 
central  ideas  are  made  salient,  and  all  other  words  are  made 
subordinate  by  inflection  and  change  of  pitch. 

The  question  arises  whether  grammar  or  logic  has  more  to  do 
with  Vocal  Expression.  Grammar  shows  the  relation  of  words, 
while  logic  shows  the  relation  of  ideas.  It  is  the  relation  of 
ideas  which  has  to  do  with  Vocal  Expression.  The  relation  of 
words  is  an  important  element  of  verbal  language,  but  the  inflec- 
tions and  modulations  of  the  voice  form  a  natural  language,  and 
reveal  relations,  connections,  and  feelings  deeper  than  words. 
They  do  not  merely  show  the  relation  of  words,  but  interpret 
the  deeper  relation  of  thoughts  and  purposes. 

As  the  true  culture  and  discipline  of  the  mind  is  shown  by 
the  method  of  thought,  so  the  highest  quality  of  delivery,  and 
the  charm  of  a  well-modulated  voice,  consist  in  the  revelation  of 
the  sequence  of  ideas  in  thinking.  Method  is  often  studied  as 
a  mere  mechanical  arrangement.  In  this  view,  it  has  no  appli- 
cation to  Vocal  Expression ;  but  if  it  is  a  living  process  of  the 
mind,  then  it  furnishes  the  most  vital  principle  to  Vocal  Expres- 
sion.    Coleridge  has  well  said,  — 

Method  implies  a  progressive  transition,  and  it  is  the  meaning 
of  the  word  in  the  original  language.  The  Greek  Me'#oSos,  is 
literally  a  way,  or  path  of  transit.  Thus  we  extol  the  Elements  of 
Euclid,  or  Socrates'  discourse  with  the  slave  in  the  Menon,  as 
methodical,  a  term  which  no  one  who  holds  himself  bound  to  think 
or  speak  correctly  would  apply  to  the  alphabetical  order  or  arrange- 
ment of  a  common  dictionary.  But  as,  without  continuous  transi- 
tion, there  can  be  no  method,  so  without  a  pre-conception  there 
can  be  no  transition  with  continuity.  The  term  method  cannot, 
therefore,  otherwise  than  by  abuse,  be  applied  to  a  mere  dead 
arrangeme  at,  containing  in  itself  no  principle  of  progression. 

There  have  been  many  schemes  and  rules  to  find  the  emphatic 
word.     Some  of  them  are  good ;  but  they  are  good  in  propor- 
9 


130  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

tion  as  they  conform  to  the  principles  of  a  right  logical  method. 
Why  not  use  Vocal  Expression  as  a  means  of  practically  study- 
ing Method?  It  furnishes  a  means  of  studying  and  comparing 
the  method  of  the  greatest  minds  in  a  simple,  practical  way.  So 
important  and  so  rarely  studied  is  this  subject  that  the  famous 
essay  of  Coleridge,  in  the  "Friend,"  is  here  abridged.  The 
student,  in  the  light  of  the  last  few  lessons,  can  easily  apply  the 
principles  to  Vocal  Expression. 

What  is  that  which  strikes  us  at  once,  in  a  man  of  education, 
and  which  among  educated  men  so  instantly  distinguishes  the  man 
of  superior  mind,  that,  as  was  observed  of  Edmund  Burke,  "  we 
cannot  stand  under  the  same  archway  during  a  shower  of  rain, 
without  finding  him  out?"  Not  the  weight  or  novelty  of  his  re- 
marks; not  any  unusual  interest  of  facts  communicated  by  him. 
The  difference  will  be  felt,  though  the  conversation  should  be 
confined  to  the  state  of  the  weather  or  the  pavement.  Still  less 
will  it  arise  from  any  peculiarity  in  his  words  and  phrases. 

Unless  where  new  things  necessitate  new  terms,  he  will  avoid 
an  unusual  word  as  a  rock.  There  remains  but  one  other  point  of 
distinction  possible,  and  this  must  be  the  true  cause  of  the  impres- 
sion made  on  us.  It  is  the  unpremeditated  and  evidently  habitual 
arrangement  of  his  words,  grounded  on  the  habit  of  foreseeing  in 
each  integral  part,  or  in  every  sentence,  the  whole  that  he  intends 
to  communicate.  However  irregular  and  desultory  his  talk,  there 
is  method  in  the  fragments. 

Listen,  on  the  other  hand,  to  an  ignorant  man,  though  perhaps 
shrewd  and  able  in  his  particular  calling,  whether  he  be  describing 
or  relating.  We  immediately  perceive  tbat  his  memory  alone  is 
called  into  action;  and  that  the  objects  and  events  recur  in  the 
narration  in  the  same  order,  and  with  the  same  accompaniments, 
however  accidental  or  impertinent,  as  they  had  first  occurred  to 
the  narrator.  The  necessity  of  taking  breath,  the  efforts  of  recol- 
lection, and  the  abrupt  rectification  of  its  failures,  produce  all  his 
pauses;  and  with  exception  of  the  "  and  then,"  the  "  and  there," 
and  the  still  less  significant  "  and  so,"  they  constitute  likewise  all 
his  connections. 


METHOD    OF   THOUGHT   AND    WORDS.  131 

The  difference  between  the  products  of  a  well  disciplined  and 
those  of  an  uncultivated  understanding,  in  relation  to  what  we  will 
now  venture  to  call  the  Science  of  Method,  is  often  and  admirably 
exhibited  by  our  great  dramatist.  We  scarcely  need  refer  our 
readers  to  the  clown's  evidence,  in  the  first  scene  of  the  second  act 
of  "Measure  for  Measure,"  or  to  the  nurse  in  "Romeo  and 
Juliet."  But  not  to  leave  the  position  without  an  instance  to 
illustrate  it,  we  will  take  the  "  easy-yielding  "  Mrs.  Quickly's  rela- 
tion of  the  circumstances  of  Sir  John  Falstaff's  debt  to  her:  — 


145    Falstaff.     What  is  the  gross  sum  that  I  owe  thee? 

Host.  Marry,  if  thou  wert  an  honest  man,  thyself  and  the  money 
too.  Thou  didst  swear  to  me  upon  a  parcel-gift  goblet,  sitting  in  my  dol- 
phin chamber,  at  the  round  table,  by  a  sea-coal  fire,  upon  Wednesday  in 
Wheeson-week,  when  the  Prince  broke  thy  head  for  liking  his  father  to 
a  singing-man  of  Windsor,  —  thou  didst  swear  to  me  then,  as  I  was 
washing  thy  wound,  to  marry  me,  and  make  me  my  lady  thy  wife 
Canst  thou  deny  it?  Did  not  goodwife  Keeck,  the  butcher's  wife,  come 
in  then,  and  call  me  gossip  Quickly?  coming  in  to  borrow  a  mess  of 
vinegar;  telling  us  she  had  a  good  dish  of  prawns;  whereby  thou  didst 
desire  to  eat  some;  whereby  I  told  thee  they  were  ill  for  a  green  wound? 
"Henry  IV."  part  2,  Act  II.,  Scene  1.  Shakespeare. 

And  this,  be  it  observed,  is  so  far  from  being  carried  beyond  the 
bounds  of  a  fair  imitation,  that  "the  poor  soul's"  thoughts  and 
sentences  are  far  more  closely  interlinked  than  the  truth  of  nature 
would  have  required,  but  that  the  connections  and  sequence,  which 
the  habit  of  method  can  alone  give,  have  in  this  instance  a  substi- 
tute in  the  fusion  of  passion.  For  the  absence  of  method,  which 
characterizes  the  uneducated,  is  occasioned  by  an  habitual  submis- 
sion of  the  understanding  to  mere  events  and  images  as  such,  and 
independent  of  any  power  in  the  mind  to  classify  or  appropriate 
them.  The  general  accompaniments  of  time  and  place  are  the 
only  relations  which  persons  of  this  class  appear  to  regard  in  their 
statements.  As  this  constitutes  their  leading  feature,  the  contrary 
excellence,  as  distinguishing  the  well-educated  man,  must  be 
referred  to  the  contrary  habit.  Method,  therefore,  becomes  natural 
to  the  mind  which  has  been  accustomed  to  contemplate  not  things 
only,  or  for  their  own  sake  alone,  but  likewise  and  chiefly  the 


132  VOCAL   EXPRESSION-. 

relations  of  things,  either  their  relations  to  each  other,  or  to  the 
observer,  or  to  the  state  and  apprehension  of  the  hearers.  To  enum- 
erate and  analyze  these  relations,  with  the  conditions  under  which 
alone  they  are  discoverable,  is  to  teach  the  science  of  method. 

The  enviable  results  of  this  science,  when  knowledge  has  been 
ripened  into  those  habits  which  at  once  secure  and  evince  its  pos- 
session, can  scarcely  be  exhibited  more  forcibly  as  well  as  more 
pleasingly,  than  by  contrasting  with  the  former  extract  from 
Shakespeare  the  narration  given  by  Hamlet  to  Horatio  of  the 
occurrences  during  his  proposed  transportation  to  England,  and 
the  events  that  interrupted  the  voyage. 


146.    HAMLET'S  VOYAGE. 

Hamlet.     So  much  for  this,  sir;  now  let  me  see  the  other; 
You  do  remember  all  the  circumstance? 

Horatio.     Remember  it,  my  Lord? 

Hamlet.     Sir,  in  my  heart  there  was  a  kind  of  fighting 
That  would  not  let  me  sleep :  methought  I  lay 
Worse  than  the  mutinies  in  the  bilboes.     Rashly,  — 
And  praised  be  rashness  for  it ;  let  us  know, 
Our  indiscretion  sometimes  serves  us  well, 
"When  our  deep  plots  do  pall :  and  that  should  teach  us 
There's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will,  — 

Horatio.  That  is  most  certain. 

Hamlet.     Up  from  my  cabin, 
My  sea-gown  scarf  d  about  me,  in  the  dark 
Groped  I  to  find  out  them;  had  my  desire; 
Fingered  their  packet;  and,  in  fine,  withdrew 
To  mine  own  room  again :  making  so  bold, 
My  fears  forgetting  manners,  to  unseal 
Their  grand  commission;  where  I  found,  Horatio,-— 
O  royal  knavery !  an  exact  command, 
Larded  with  many  several  sorts  of  reason,  — 
Importing  Denmark's  health,  and  England's  too, 
With,  ho!  such  bugs  and  goblins  in  my  life,  — 
That,  on  the  supervise,  no  leisure  bated, 
No,  not  to  stay  the  grinding  of  the  axe, 
My  head  should  be  struck  off. 


METHOD   OF    THOUGHT   AND   WORDS.  133 

Horatio.  Is't  possible? 

Hamlet.     Here's  the  commission:  read  it  at  more  leisure. 
But  wilt  thou  hear  me  how  I  did  proceed  ? 

Horatio.     I  beseech  you. 

Hamlet.     Being  thus  be-netted  round  with  villainies,  — 
Ere  I  could  make  a  prologue  to  my  brains, 
They  had  begun  the  play,  —  I  sat  me  down ; 
Devis'd  a  new  commission;  wrote  it  fair. 
I  once  did  hold  it,  as  our  statists  do, 
A  baseness  to  write  fair,  and  laboured  much 
How  to  forget  that  learning ;  but,  sir,  now 
It  did  me  yeoman's  service.     Wilt  thou  know 
Th'  effect  of  what  I  wrote  ? 

Horatio.  Ay,  good  my  lord. 

Hamlet.     An  earnest  conjuration  from  the  King,  — 
As  England  was  his  faithful  tributary ; 
As  love  between  them  like  the  palm  might  flourish; 
As  peace  should  still  her  wheaten  garland  wear, 
And  stand  a  cement  'tween  their  amities; 
And  many  such-like  ases  of  great  charge,  — 
That,  on  the  view,  and  knowing  of  these  contents, 
Without  debatement  further,  more  or  less, 
He  should  the  bearers  put  to  sudden  death, 
Not  shriving-time  allowed. 

Horatio.  How  was  this  seal'd  ? 

Hamlet.     Why,  even  in  that  was  Heaven  ordinant. 
I  had  my  fathers  signet  in  my  purse, 
Which  was  the  model  of  that  Danish  seal ; 
Folded  the  writ  up  in  form  of  th'  other; 
Subscribed  it;  gave't  th'  impression;  placed  it  safely, 
The  changeling  never  known.     Now,  the  next  day 
Was  our  sea-fight ;  and  what  to  this  was  sequent 
Thou  knowst  already. 

Horatio.     So  Guildenstern  and  Bosencrantz  go  to't. 

Hamlet.      Why,  man,  they  did  make  love  to  this  employment: 
They  are  not  near  my  conscience;  their  defeat 
Does  by  their  own  insinuation  grow : 
'Tis  dangerous  when  the  baser  nature  comes 
Between  the  pass  and  fell-incensed  points 
Of  mighty  opposites. 
"Hamlet,"  Act  V.,  Scene  2.  Shakespeare. 


134  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Here  the  events,  with  the  circumstances  of  time  and  place,  are 
all  stated  with  equal  compression  and  rapidity,  not  one  introduced 
which  could  have  been  omitted  without  injury  to  the  intelligibility 
of  the  whole  process.  If  any  tendency  is  discoverable,  as  far  as 
the  mere  facts  are  in  question,  it  is  the  tendency  to  omission,  and, 
accordingly,  the  reader  will  observe  that  the  attention  of  the 
narrator  is  afterwards  called  back  to  one  material  circumstance, 
which  he  was  hurrying  by,  by  a  direct  question  from  the  friend  to 
whom  the  story  is  communicated,  "  How  was  this  sealed?  "  But 
by  a  trait  which  is  indeed  peculiarly  characteristic  of  Hamlet's 
mind,  ever  disposed  to  generalize,  and  meditative  to  excess  (but 
which,  with  due  abatement  and  reduction,  is  distinctive  of  every 
powerful  and  methodizing  intellect) ,  all  the  digressions  and  enlarge- 
ments consist  of  reflections,  trutbs,  and  principles  of  general  and 
permanent  interest,  either  directly  expressed,  or  disguised  in  playful 
satire. 

It  would,  perhaps,  be  sufficient  to  remark  of  this  passage,  in 
connection  with  the  humorous  specimen  of  narration, 

"  Fermenting  o'er  with  frothy  circumstance," 

in  Henry  IV.,  that  if,  overlooking  the  different  value  of  matter  in 
each,  we  considered  the  form  alone,  we  should  find  both  imme- 
thodical;  Hamlet  from  the  excess,  Mrs.  Quickly  from  the  want  of 
reflection  and  generalization;  and  that  method,  therefore,  must 
result  from  the  due  mean  or  balance  between  our  passive  impres- 
sions and  the  mind's  own  re-action  on  the  same. 

Thus  exuberance  of  mind,  on  the  one  hand,  interferes  with  the 
forms  of  method;  but  sterility  of  mind,  on  the  other,  wanting  the 
spring  and  impulse  to  mental  action,  is  wholly  destructive  of 
method  itself.  For  in  attending  too  exclusively  to  the  relations 
which  the  past  or  passing  events  and  objects  bear  to  general  truth 
and  the  moods  of  his  own  thought,  the  most  intelligent  man  is 
sometimes  in  danger  of  overlooking  that  other  relation  in  which 
they  are  likewise  to  be  placed  to  the  apprehension  and  sympathies 
of  his  hearers.  His  discourse  appears  like  soliloquy  intermixed 
with  dialogue.  But  the  uneducated  and  unreflecting  talker  over- 
looks all  mental  relations  both  logical  and  psychological;  and  con- 
sequently precludes  all  method  that  is  not    purely    accidental. 


METHOD  OF  THOUGHT  AND  "WOKDS.  135 

Hence  the  nearer  the  things  and  incidents  in  time  and  place,  the 
more  distant,  disjointed,  and  impertinent  to  each  other,  and  to  any 
common  purpose,  will  they  appear  in  his  narration;  and  this  from 
the  want  of  a  staple,  or  starting-post,  in  the  narrator  himself;  from 
the  absence  of  the  leading  thought,  which,  borrowing  a  phrase 
from  the  nomenclature  of  legislation,  we  may  not  inaptly  call  the 
initiative.  On  the  contrary,  wbere  the  habit  of  method  is  present 
and  effective,  things  the  most  remote  and  diverse  in  time,  place, 
and  outward  circumstance  are  brought  into  mental  contiguity  and 
succession,  the  more  striking  as  the  less  expected.  But  while  we 
should  impress  the  necessity  of  this  habit,  the  illustrations  adduced 
give  proof  that  in  undue  preponderance,  and  when  the  prerogative 
of  the  mind  is  stretched  into  despotism,  the  discourse  may  degene- 
rate into  the  grotesque  or  the  fantastical. 

If  the  excess  lead  to  method  misapplied,  and  to  connections  of 
the  moment,  the  absence,  or  marked  deficiency,  either  precludes 
method  altogether,  both  form  and  substance,  or  retains  the  outward 
form  only.  

147        Polonius.    My  liege  and  madam,  to  expostulate 
What  majesty  should  be,  what  duty  is, 
.    Why  day  is  day,  night  night,  and  time  is  time, 
Were  nothing  but  to  waste  night,  day,  and  time. 
Therefore,  since  brevity  is  the  soul  of  wit, 
And  tediousness  the  limbs  and  outward  flourishes, 
I  will  be  brief:  Tour  noble  son  is  mad: 
Mad  call  I  it;  for,  to  define  true  madness, 
What  is't  but  to  be  nothing  else  but  mad? 
But  let  that  go. 

Queen.  More  matter,  with  less  art. 

Polonius.  Madam,  I  swear  I  use  no  art  at  all. 

That  he  is  mad,  'tis  true:  'tis  true,  'tis  pity; 
And  pity  'tis  'tis  true:  a  foolish  figure; 
But  farewell  it,  for  I  will  use  no  art. 
Mad  let  us  grant  him,  then:  and  now  remains 
That  we  find  out  the  cause  of  this  effect,  — 
Or  rather  say,  the  cause  of  this  defect, 
For  this  effect  defective  comes  by  cause : 
Thus  it  remains,  and  the  remainder  thus. 
"Hamlet,"  Act  II.,  Scene  2.  Shakespeare. 


136  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

A  passage  may  be  written  logically,  but  be  perverted  in  the 
way  it  is  read.  Often  in  great  poems,  such  as  the  Book  of  Job, 
it  is  difficult  to  make  clear  the  continuity  of  the  thought.  The 
argument  of  the  twenty-eighth  chapter  is  often  obscured  or  per- 
verted. How  often  are  specific  ideas  given  for  their  own  sake  ? 
'  There  is  a  path  that  no  fowl  knoweth.'  What  path  ?  Perhaps 
God's  Providence.  The  whole  thought  has  usually  been  lost. 
All  the  first  part  of  the  chapter  refers  to  mining  as  an  illustration 
of  man's  power,  in  contrast  to  his  inability  to  find  '  wisdom.'' 
This  is  the  centre  of  the  chapter ;  '  God '  is  not  referred  to  till 
the  last,  and  then  the  word  is  very  emphatic ;  last  of  all  wisdom 
is  defined  as  '  the  fear  of  the  Lord.'  '  Wisdom,'  '  God,'  '  fear  of 
the  Lord,'  must  stand  forth  as  the  great  central  words,  or  the 
passage  becomes  nonsense.  Of  course,  each  successive  idea  in 
each  clause  is  to  be  accentuated,  but  these  are  the  great  centres, 
and  when  these  are  made  salient,  all  is  clear  and  simple.  A 
reading  of  this  passage  in  two  ways  will  show,  more  clearly  than 
any  discussion  can  possibly  suggest,  the  great  importance  of 
method  in  Vocal  Expression,  and  the  great  importance  of 
certain  words. 

Problem  XXVII.  Read  a  passage  so  as  to  show  clearly  the 
continuity  of  the  thought,  making  salient  the  great  central  words 
which  show  the  purpose  and  which  carry  the  thinking  forward, 
and  upon  which  all  other  words  depend  for  meaning. 


148,  SEAEOH  FOE  WISDOM. 
Surely  there  is  a  mine  for  silver,  and  a  place  for  gold  which  they 
refine.  Iron  is  taken  out  of  the  earth,  and  brass  is  molten  out  of  the 
stone.  Man  setteth  an  end  to  darkness,  and  searcheth  out  to  the  furthest 
bounds  the  stones  of  thick  darkness  and  of  the  shadow  of  death.  He 
breaketh  open  a  shaft  away  from  where  men  sojourn ;  they  are  forgotten 
of  the  foot  that  passeth  by ;  they  hang  afar  from  men,  they  swing  to  and 
fro.  As  for  the  earth,  out  of  it  cometh  bread :  and  underneath  it  is 
turned  up  as  it  were  by  fire.  The  stones  thereof  are  the  place  of  sapphires, 
and  it  hath  dust  of  gold.  That  path  no  bird  of  prey  knoweth,  neither 
hath  the  falcon's  eye  seen  it:  the  proud  beasts  have  not  trodden  it,  nor 


METHOD   OF   THOUGHT   AND   WORDS.  137 

hath  the  fierce  lion  passed  thereby.  He  putteth  forth  his  hand  upon  the 
flinty  rock ;  he  overturneth  the  mountains  by  the  roots.  He  cutteth  out 
channels  among  the  rocks ;  and  his  eye  seeth  every  precious  thing.  He 
bindeth  the  streams  that  they  trickle  not ;  and  the  thing  that  is  hid  bring- 
eth  he  forth  to  light. 

But  where  shall  wisdom  be  found?  And  where  is  the  place  of  under- 
standing? Man  knoweth  not  the  price  thereof;  neither  is  it  found  in  the 
land  of  the  living.  The  deep  saith,  It  is  not  in  me,  and  the  sea  saith, 
It  is  not  with  me.  It  cannot  be  gotten  for  gold,  neither  shall  silver 
be  weighed  for  the  price  thereof.  It  cannot  be  valued  with  the  gold  of 
Ophir,  with  the  precious  onyx  or  the  sapphire.  Gold  and  glass  cannot 
equal  it :  neither  shall  the  exchange  thereof  be  jewels  of  fine  gold.  No 
mention  shall  be  made  of  coral  or  of  crystal:  Yea,  the  price  of  wisdom  is 
above  rubies.  The  topaz  of  Ethiopia  shall  not  equal  it,  neither  shall  it 
be  valued  with  pure  gold.  Whence  then  cometh  wisdom?  And  where  is 
the  place  of  understanding?  Seeing  it  is  hid  from  the  eyes  of  all  living, 
and  kept  close  from  the  fowls  of  the  air.  Destruction  and  death  say, 
We  have  heard  a  rumor  thereof  with  our  ears. 

God  understandeth  the  way  thereof,  and  he  knoweth  the  place  thereof. 
For  he  looketh  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  seeth  under  the  whole 
heaven ;  to  make  a  weight  for  the  wind ;  yea,  he  meteth  out  the  waters 
by  measure.  When  he  made  a  decree  for  the  rain,  and  a  way  for  the 
lightning  of  the  thunder:  then  did  he  see  it,  and  declare  it;  he  established 
it,  yea,  and  searched  it  out,  and  unto  man  he  said,  Behold  the  fear  of  the 
Lord,  that  is  wisdom;  and  to  depart  from  evil  is  understanding. 

Job  XXVIII. 

Problem  XXYIII.  Contrast  a  passage  having  one  intellectual 
centre,  manifested  in  one  word,  with  one  which  has  a  simple 
situation  and  is  chiefly  the  movement  of  passion.     (135  and  137  ) 


149.     CONSIDER, 

Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field  whose  bloom  is  brief:  —  we  are  as  they; 
like  them  we  fade  away,  as  doth  a  leaf.  Consider  the  sparrows  of  the  air 
of  small  account :  our  God  doth  view  whether  they  fall  or  mount,  —  he 
guards  us  too. 

Consider  the  lilies  that  do  neither  spin  nor  toil,  yet  are  most  fair:  — 

what  profits  all  this  care  and  all  this  toil?    Consider  the  birds  that  have 

no  barn  nor  harvest- weeks ;  God  gives  them  food:  —  much  more  our 

Father  seeks  to  do  us  good. 

Christina  Georgina  Rossettu 


138  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

150  Rest  is  not  quitting  the  busy  career;  rest  is  the  fitting  of  self  to 
its  sphere.  'Tis  the  brook's  motion,  clear  without  strife,  fleeing  to  ocean 
after  its  life.  Deeper  devotion  nowhere  hath  knelt;  fuller  emotion  heart 
never  felt.  'Tis  loving  and  serving  the  highest  and  best:  'tis  onward! 
unswerving  —  and  that  is  true  rest.  Dwight. 

151  With  malice  toward  none ;  with  charity  for  all ;  with  firmness  in 
the  right,  as  God  gives  us  to  see  the  right,  let  us  strive  on  to  finish  the 
work  we  are  in;  to  bind  up  the  nation's  wounds;  to  care  for  him  who 
shall  have  borne  the  battle,  and  for  his  widow,  and  his  orphan  —  to  do  all 
which  may  achieve  and  cherish  a  just  and  a  lasting  peace  among  our- 
selves, and  with  all  nations.  Lincoln. 


XVIII.    METHOD   IN  NAEBATION. 


npHE  simplest  sequence  of  ideas  or  example  of  method  is  fur- 
■*-  nished  in  narration.  A  good  story-teller  is  one  who  can 
present  such  ideas  as  will  suggest  events,  and  give  movement  to 
the  mind.  All  vocal  expression  is  in  time,  so  that  movement  or 
progression  is  its  fundamental  law.  To  be  able  to  tell  a  story, 
therefore,  is  very  important.  The  ability  to  state  ideas  simply 
in  relation  to  events  is  the  highest  characteristic  of  a  strong, 
logical  mind,  and  is  a  mark  of  the  highest  literary  excellence. 
As  an  illustration  of  the  method  of  the  mind,  and  the  modes 
by  which  the  voice  reveals  the  successive  ideas  in  narration, 
take  a  short  story  from  the  greatest  prose  writer  of  America. 


152.  THE  WRECK. 
We  one  day  descried  some  shapeless  object  drifting  at  a  distance.  At 
sea,  everything  that  breaks  the  monotony  of  the  surrounding  expanse 
attracts  attention.  It  proved  to  be  the  mast  of  a  ship  that  must  have 
been  completely  wrecked ;  for  there  were  the  remains  of  handkerchiefs, 
by  which  some  of  the  crew  had  fastened  themselves  to  this  spar,  to  prevent 
their  being  washed  off  by  the  waves.  There  was  no  trace  by  which  the 
name  of  the  ship  could  be  ascertained.  The  wreck  had  evidently  drifted 
about  for  many  months ;  clusters  of  shell-fish  had  fastened  about  it,  and 
long  sea-weeds  flaunted  at  its  sides.  But  where,  thought  I,  are  the  crew? 
Their  struggle  has  long  been  over ;  they  have  gone  down  amidst  the  roar 


METHOD    IN   NARRATION.  139 

of  the  tempest;  their  bones  lie  whitening  in  the  caverns  of  the  deep. 
Silence,  oblivion,  like  the  waves,  have  closed  over  them,  and  no  one  can 
tell  the  story  of  their  end. 

What  sighs  have  been  wafted  after  that  ship !  what  prayers  offered  up 
at  the  deserted  fireside  at  home !  How  often  has  the  wife,  the  mother, 
pored  over  the  daily  news  to  catch  some  casual  intelligence  of  this  rover 
of  the  deep !  How  has  expectation  darkened  into  anxiety,  anxiety  into 
dread,  and  dread  into  despair !  Alas !  not  one  memento  shall  ever  return 
for  love  to  cherish.  All  that  shall  ever  be  known  is,  that  she  sailed  from 
her  port,  "  and  was  never  heard  of  more." 

"The  Voyage."  Washington  Irving. 

We  assume  that  we  are  on  shipboard.  What  is  the  central 
idea  ?  If  I  read  and  accentuate  '  day,'  "  We  one  day  descried 
some  shapeless  object?"  I  set  your  mind  to  comparing  day  and 
night.  If  I  accent  '  descried,'  I  awaken  a  false  antithesis ;  it  is 
only  used  in  a  general  sense,  — '  saw '  would  do  as  well.  To 
accentuate  '  shapeless '  causes  the  mind  to  compare  kinds  of 
objects.  Why  not  '  drifting  ? '  Because  at  sea  of  course  it  would 
drift.  '  Object '  is  the  only  word  the  accentuation  of  which 
concentrates  the  mind,  holds  it  '  in  the  frame,'  and  does  not 
carry  the  thought  upon  a  tangent.  The  effort  of  the  discovery 
of  this  object  is  shown  by  '  attention.'  We  may,  however,  pre- 
viously to  this,  concentrate  the  mind  upon  the  word  '  sea,'  for 
the  sake  of  contrast,  implying  that  it  is  not  so  by  land,  which  is 
true.  Others,  implying  the  sea,  prefer  to  emphasize  'every- 
thing.' There  are  always  such  possible  steps  in  the  logical 
action  of  different  minds.  Attention  is  kept  constantly  upon 
the  object  until  they  discover  what  it  is,  — '  the  mast  of  a  ship.' 
After  a  certain  fact  is  observed,  it  is  natural  for  the  mind  to 
make  an  inference,  and  this  inference  is  shown  by  the  word 
'  wreck.'  We  then  proceed  to  give  the  reason  for  this  conclu- 
sion, — '  handkerchiefs.'  The  attention  of  the  mind  is  directed 
wholly  to  facts,  and  immediate  and  necessary  conclusions ;  then 
the  crew  is  kept  in  the  background.  The  immediate  cause  of 
the  handkerchiefs  is  '  waves.'     The  mind  seeks  naturally  for 


140  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

the  '  name '  of  the  ship.  If  a  name  can  be  found,  definite  news 
can  be  reported,  which  will  be  of  great  consequence.  To  report 
a  mere  piece  of  any  ship,  floating  about  on  the  ocean,  would  be 
very  indefinite.  The  mind  logically  seeks  after  something  defi- 
nite, and  the  voice  reveals  the  object  of  the  search.  The  word 
which  indicates  a  definite  point  of  progress,  or  advancement 
toward  a  purpose,  is  emphasized,  while  that  which  is  vague  and 
indefinite  is  subordinated.  The  next  advance  in  observation 
regards  time,  indicated  by  '  months.'  Then  the  reasons,  '  shell- 
fish '  and  '  sea- weed,'  are  added.  It  is  just  as  logical  to  give  the 
conclusion  first,  and  the  reasons  afterward,  as  it  is  to  give  first 
the  reasons  and  then  the  conclusion.  All  possible  facts  of  the 
wreck  have  now  been  observed.  As  the  wreck  drifts  away,  the 
mind  takes  in  the  whole  situation,  and  naturally  turns  to  the 
crew.  Emphasis  upon  'where'  would  be  ambiguous.  The 
logical  action  of  the  mind  emphasizes  the  word  containing  least 
ambiguity.     The  central  point  is  not  the  place,  but  the  men. 

There  have  been  three  methods  by  which  what  is  known  as 
the  emphatic  word  can  be  found.  Professor  Bell  taught  that 
the  principle  is  novelty ;  that  is  to  say,  "  the  word  is  emphatic 
that  contains  the  additional  or  new  idea."  Professor  Monroe 
taught  that  it  was  utility ;  taking,  for  example,  the  question  in 
this  extract,  you  find  that  you  can  throw  away  all  except  the 
word  '  over,'  which  alone  will  answer  the  question.  "  Emphatic 
words  are  those  which  are  most  necessary  to  the  sense."  Pro- 
fessor Raymond  always  reduced  everything  to  conversation.  He 
said  in  substance,  "  turn  the  sentence  into  your  own  words,  and 
observe,  when  you  are  talking  naturally,  where  you  centre  the 
voice ;  this  shows  the  emphatic  word." 

The  principle  beneath  all  these  methods  is  the  logical  action 
of  the  mind.  They  are  simply  modes  of  testing  the  mind's 
action  or  method.  Why  not  study  the  process  of  thinking  it- 
self, find  that  which  is  fundamental  and  natural,  train  the  pene- 
trative action  of  the  mind,  and  secure  confidence  in  its  method 


METHOD   IX   NARRATION.  141 

or  procedure  ?  To  prove  the  inadequacy  of  these  methods  or 
rules,  notice  the  fact  that  the  word  'crew'  occurs  very  early, 
but  if  the  mind  stc^s  to  emphasize  that  and  moralize  over  it, 
the  story  will  be  destroyed.  The  passengers  on  the  ship  are 
entirely  taken  up  with  the  observation  of  the  facts,  or  the 
objects  before  the  eye.  If  their  minds  had  turnod  aside  to 
sentimentalize  over  the  wreck  too  early,  they  would  have  lost 
the  opportunity  to  observe  the  facts.  If  a  speaker  does  the 
same  for  an  audience  before  all  the  facts  are  introduced  to 
the  mind,  the  unity  of  the  story  and  its  effect  are  completely 
marred.  The  mind  first  demands  the  facts,  and  after  all  the 
facts  are  gathered  it  puts  them  together,  supplies  missing  links, 
and  creates  one  harmonious  whole,  to  which  the  heart  naturally 
responds  in  noble  feeling. 

Where  is  the  crew  ?  '  Over.'  This  may  seem  a  very  general 
answer ;  but  such  is  the  aim  of  the  author.  In  the  next  sen- 
tence, many  will  be  tempted  to  accentuate  'gone  down';  but 
this  will  spoil  the  author's  climax  in  the  following  sentence.  It 
is  best  to  stay  the  mind  upon  '  tempest,'  as  the  cause,  and  then, 
in  strong  contrast,  the  climax  will  be  felt  more  fully  on  '  deep.' 

Many  speakers  emphasize  any  word  which  fits  the  mouth,  — 
as  the  word  '  all,'  —  wherever  it  may  occur.  Such  will  be  very 
apt  to  emphasize  '  bones '  in  this  sentence,  or  '  roar '  in  the  pre- 
ceding. Thus  the  most  accidental  elements  are  often  made  so 
prominent  as  to  obscure  completely  the  path  of  mind  in  the 
simplest  thinking.  This  is  muscular  emphasis,  rather  than  the 
emphasis  of  thought. 

Again,  some  minds  are  more  fond  of  isolated  ideas  than  of 
thought.  Such  will  desire  to  emphasize  '  caverns.'  As  an  acci- 
dent, 'caverns'  is  a  very  helpful  word,  enabling  the  mind  to 
secure  a  conception  or  feeling  of  loneliness,  and  assisting  us  to 
secure  truth  of  feeling ;  but  made  the  logical  centre  of  the 
thought  it  becomes  false.  There  are  no  caverns  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea. 


142  VOCAL  EXPRESSION". 

How  naturally  the  mind  penetrates  to  the  central  ideas, 
and  moves  on  to  'silence,'  'oblivion,'  'end!'  The  mind  now 
naturally  turns  to  the  homes  of  those  men,  '  sighs,'  '  prayers,' 
1  wife,'  'mother,'  all  these  following  in  a  perfectly  natural 
sequence.  A  good  writer  thus  awakens  thought  by  stimulating 
the  simplest  progressive  association  of  ideas.  Will  the  mind 
centre  its  attention  upon  'news'  or  'intelligence?'  'News'  is 
vague  and  indefinite.  To  further  the  mind's  thinking  it  is 
necessary  to  concentrate  attention  upon  the  idea  most  inclusive 
and  most  definite.  'Intelligence'  is  here  the  most  specific  ob- 
ject sought ;  news  is  probably  the  newspaper. 

There  is  in  this  sentence  a  good  illustration  of  the  difference 
between  rhetoric  and  logic.  If  the  sentence  were  mechanically 
formed,  it  would  end  in  'of  it ' ;  but  this  is  not  beautiful,  so  it 
ends  in  'of  this  rover  of  the  deep.'  But  'this  rover  of  the 
deep,'  no  less  than  '  it,'  stands  for  the  shrp,  and  to  emphasize 
such  a  phrase  because  it  is  beautiful  is  to  make  the  rhetoric 
predominant  rather  than  the  logic.  Emphasis  is  dependent 
upon  logic,  and  not  upon  grammar  or  rhetoric ;  such  expressions 
as  this  are  accidental,  and  are  not  necessary  to  the  thought. 

The  next  ideas  follow  in  spontaneous  sequence,  — '  expecta- 
tion,' '  anxiety,'  '  dread,'  '  despair,'  — '  not  one  memento.' 

A  negative  sentence,  unless  in  immediate  contrast  to  a  positive 
one,  is  emphasized  in  the  same  way  as  a  positive  statement. 
This  is  illustrated  in  debate.  If  a  speaker  in  reply  follows  the 
order  of  the  argument  of  the  speaker  on  the  affirmative,  he  is 
often  only  confirming  the  strength  of  the  arguments  on  the 
other  side.  xEschines  said  to  his  judges  that  Demosthenes  must 
be  compelled  to  answer  his  charges  in  the  order  they  were  pre- 
sented, but  Demosthenes  was  too  skilful  a  debater  to  take  up 
and  confirm  the  arguments  of  his  opponent.  Then  chief  strength 
was  in  their  order.  So  he  put  a  strong  argument  first  to  change 
the  current  of  thought  in  the  mind  of  the  judges,  a  strong  argu- 
ment last,  and  threw  his  weak  ones  in  the  centre  of  his  speech. 


METHOD   IN   NARRATION.  143 

Unless  a  negative  is  in  contrast  to  a  positive  the  negation  is  only 
an  accident.  In  this  paragraph  the  whole  story  is  summed  up  in 
1  sailed  .  .  .  never  heard  of  more.' 

If  the  words  enumerated  are  the  most  essential,  are  the  true 
centres  of  the  mind  in  the  progression  of  the  thought,  we  can 
give  these  words  and  these  only,  and  still  carry  the  mind  over 
the  successive  steps  of  the  story. 

Object,  —  attention, — mast  of  a  ship, — wrecked,  —  handkerchiefs, — 
waves,  —  name,  —  months,  —  shell-fish,  —  sea- weed. 

Crew,  —  over,  —  tempest,  —  deep,  —  silence,  —  oblivion,  —  end. 

Sighs,  —  prayers,  —  wife,  —  mother,  —  intelligence,  —  expectation,  — 
anxiety,  —  dread,  —  despair,  —  not  one  memento,  —  sailed,  —  nevermore. 

This  is  a  good  illustration  of  the  suggestive  power  of  right 
words,  or  of  the  importance  of  showing  the  comparative  values 
of  words  by  the  voice.  Great  writers  and  speakers  are  known 
by  the  fewness  of  their  words ;  the  able  reader  is  shown  by  his 
power  to  make  a  few  words  reveal  and  interpret  the  deepest 
and  most  complex  thought.  Of  course  some  readers  will  em- 
phasize one  word,  some  another,  some  more,  some  a  less  number 
of  words,  even  in  such  a  simple  story  as  this ;  but,  other  things 
being  equal,  these  words  embody  the  ideas  which  are  the  most 
necessary  to  the  story. 

We  fi^.d  in  narration  probably  the  simplest  and  most  funda- 
mental sequence  of  ideas ;  but  strange  to  say  there  are  very  few 
good  story-tellers.  There  is  a  special  tendency  to  dwell  upon 
details,  or  to  fly  off  upon  tangents.  Hence  the  power  to  select 
and  tell  without  wandering  the  fundamental  points  of  a  story 
measures  the  power  of  the  mind  to  penetrate  to  essentials,  to 
control  the  passive  association  of  ideas  and  tendency  to  lose 
sight  of  its  purpose,  —  in  short,  to  preserve  method  and  order 
under  the  most  trying  and  tempting  circumstances.  We  find 
also  that  this  logical  instinct  is  a  test  of  a  good  author.  How 
simply  flow  the  ideas  of  Chaucer,  the  best  of  all  story-tellers! 
The  sequence  of  ideas  of   Scott  or  Thackeray  is  most  easily 


144  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

found ;  but  how  difficult  it  is  to  trace  the  method  of  thought  or 
to  find  the  central  ideas  in  a  poor  writer ! 

Enough  of  the  logical  actions  of  the  mind  have  been  illus- 
trated to  summarize  a  few  points.  The  jnethod  of  the  mind  is 
simply  the  road  it  takes  through  ideas :  when  this  path  is 
natural,  it  is  a  good  method ;  and  when  it  is  broken  and  zig-zag, 
it  is  a  bad  method.  We  find  also  that  the  mind  with  a  penetra- 
tive insight  seizes  the  central  idea  and  word  in  every  sentence 
or  phrase.  This  insight  is  often  spontaneous  or  instinctive. 
Take,  for  proof,  a  little  child ;  it  comes  to  its  mother,  and  asks 
for  a  piece  of  pie.  It  never  makes  a  mistake  in  emphasis.  If 
it  has  a  special  idea  in  its  mind,  regarding  the  kind  of  pie,  or 
the  size  of  the  piece,  and  if  it  is  denied,  it  can  easily  call  up  an 
antithesis  that  Jim  had  a  piece.  This  logical  action  of  the  mind 
is  most  spontaneously  revealed  by  the  voice.  The  chief  cause 
of  bad  melodies  in  public  speaking  is  the  failure  to  concentrate 
the  mind  upon  each  central  idea  successively,  and  to  make  it 
salient  in  reference  to  a  definite  purpose,  at  the  same  time  ex- 
aggerating the  simple  elements  of  conversation  in  the  same  pro- 
portion as  earnestness  accentuates  or  enlarges  those  elements  of 
thinking,  and  to  enlarge  the  rhythmic  steps  in  thinking  and  the 
essential  elements  of  conversation  harmoniously.  The  power  to 
speak  to  a  thousand  as  naturally  as  when  speaking  to  one  is  the 
highest  art  and  the  result  of  the  most  faithful  work. 

Among  the  most  important  methods  of  developing  this  logical 
instinct  is  to  have  each  student  teli  a  story  to  the  class,  or  to 
present  in  a  few  words  the  argument  of  some  great  poem.  The 
work  of  selecting  and  arranging  an  analysis  of  good  literature 
affords  a  most  important  discipline  of  the  mind,  securing  insight 
into  fundamentals,  and  method  in  the  presentation  of  ideas.  At 
the  same  time,  the  student  is  practically  brought  face  to  face 
with  the  greatest  masters  of  method  and  expression. 

Problem  XXIX.  Head  a  story  and  make  salient  only  the  most 
essential  points  and  subordinate  all  others. 


METHOD    IN   NARRATION.  145 

Problem  XXX.  Give  an  account  of  some  event  that  happened 
in  your  own  life,  being  careful  to  select  and  present  only  the  salient 
elements,  and  to  give  these  movement  and  life. 

153  The  stag  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill,  where  danced  the  moon  on 
Monan's  rill,  and  deep  his  midnight  lair  had  made  in  lone  Glenartney's 
hazel  shade ;  but,  when  the  sun  his  beacon  red  had  kindled  on  Benvoir- 
lich'shead,*  the  deep-mouth'd  bloodhound's  heavy  bay  resounded  up  the 
rocky  way,  and  faint,  from  farther  distance  borne,  were  heard  the  clang- 
ing hoof  and  horn.  As  Chief,  who  hears  his  warder  call,  "  To  arms!  the 
foemen  storm  the  wall,"  the  antler' d  monarch  of  the  waste  sprung  from 
his  heathery  couch  in  haste.  Like  crested  leader  proud  and  high,  toss'd 
his  beam'd  frontlet  to  the  sky;  a  moment  gazed  adown  the  dale,  a  moment 
snuff' d  the  tainted  gale,  a  moment  listen' d  to  the  cry,  that  thicken' d  as 
the  chase  drew  nigh;  then,  as  the  headmost  foes  appear' d,  with  one  brave 
bound  the  copse  he  clear' d,  and,  stretching  forward  free  and  far,  sought 
the  wild  heaths  of  Uam-Var.  Yell'd  on  the  view  the  opening  pack;  rock, 
glen,  and  cavern  paid  them  back ;  to  many  a  mingled  sound  at  once  the 
awaken' d  mountain  gave  response.  A  hundred  dogs  bay'd  deep  and 
strong,  clatter5  d  a  hundred  steeds  along,  their  peal  the  merry  horns  rung 
out,  a  hundred  voices  join'd  the  shout;  with  hark  and  whoop  and  wild 
halloo,  no  rest  Benvoirlich's  echoes  knew.  Far  from  the  tumult  fled  the 
roe,  close  in  her  covert  cower' d  the  doe,  the  falcon,  from  her  cairn  on 
high,  cast  on  the  rout  a  wondering  eye,  till  far  beyond  her  piercing  ken 
the  hurricane  had  swept  the  glen.  Faint  and  more  faint,  its  failing  din 
return'd  from  cavern,  cliff,  and  linn,  and  silence  settled,  wide  and  still, 
on  the  lone  wood  and  mighty  hill.  .  .  The  noble  stag  was  pausing  now 
upon  the  mountain's  southern  brow,  where  broad  extended,  far  beneath, 
the  varied  realms  of  fair  Menteith.  With  anxious  eye  he  wander' d  o'er 
mountain  and  meadow,  moss  and  moor,  and  ponder' d  refuge  from  his 
toil,  by  far  Lochard  or  Aberfoyle.  But  nearer  was  the  copsewood  grey, 
that  waved  and  wept  on  Loch-Achray,  and  mingled  with  the  pine-trees 
blue  on  the  bold  cliffs  of  Benvenue,  fresh  vigour  with  the  hope  return'd, 
with  flying  foot  the  heath  he  spurn' d,  held  westward  with  unwearied 
race,  and  left  behind  the  panting  chase.  'Twere  long  to  tell  what  steeds 
gave  o'er,  as  swept  the  hunt  through  Cambusmore;  what  reins  were 
tighten'd  in  despair,  when  rose  Benledi's  ridge  in  air;  t  who  flagg'd  upon 
Bochastle's  heath,  who  shunn'd  to  stem  the  flooded  Teith,$ —  for  twice 

*  One  of  the  Grampian  mountains  at  the  head  of  the  Valley  of  the  Garry, 
t  Benledi  is  a  high  mountain  on  the  north-west  of  Callender.  Its  name  signifies 
the  mountain  of  God.      %  A  river  giving  its  name  to  the  territory  of  Menteith. 

10 


146  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

that  day,  from  shore  to  shore,  the  gallant  stag  swam  stoutly  o'er.  Few 
were  the  stragglers,  following  far,  that  reach' d  the  lake  of  Venachar;  and 
when  the  Brigg  *  of  Turk  was  won,  the  headmost  horseman  rode  alone. 
Alone,  but  with  unbated  zeal,  that  horseman  plied  the  scourge  and  steel ; 
for  jaded  now,  and  spent  with  toil,  emboss'd  with  foam,  and  dark  with 
soil,  while  every  gasp  with  sobs  he  drew,  the  labouring  stag  strain' d  full 
in  view.  Two  dogs  of  black  St.  Hubert's  breed,  unmatch'd  for  courage, 
breath,  and  speed,  fast  on  his  flying  traces  came,  and  all  but  won  that 
desperate  game;  for,  scarce  a  spear's  length  from  his  haunch,  vindictive 
toil'd  the  bloodhounds  staunch;  nor  nearer  might  the  dogs  attain,  nor 
farther  might  the  quarry  strain.  Thus  up  the  margin  of  the  lake,  between 
the  precipice  and  brake,  o'er  stock  and  rock  their  race  they  take.  The 
hunter  marked  that  mountain  high,  the  lone  lake's  western  boundary, 
and  deem'd  the  stag  must  turn  to  bay,  where  that  huge  rampart  barr'd 
the  way;  already  glorying  in  the  prize,  measured  his  antlers  with  his 
eyes;  for  the  death- wound  and  death-halloo,  muster' d  his  breath,  his 
whinyard  drew;  —  but  thundering  as  he  came  prepared,  with  ready  arm 
and  weapon  bared,  the  wily  quarry  shunn'd  the  shock,  and  turn'd  him 
from  the  opposing  rock ;  then,  dashing  down  a  darksome  glen,  soon  lost 
to  hound  and  hunter's  ken,  in  the  deep  Trosach's  wildest  nook  his  soli- 
tary refuge  took.  There,  while  close  couch' d,  the  thicket  shed  cold 
dews  and  wild-flowers  on  his  head,  he  heard  the  baffled  dogs  in  vain 
rave  through  the  hollow  pass  amain,  chiding  the  rocks  that  yell'd  again. 
Close  on  the  hounds  the  hunter  came,  to  cheer  them  on  the  vanish' d 
game ;  but,  stumbling  in  the  rugged  dell,  the  gallant  horse  exhausted  fell. 
The  impatient  rider  strove  in  vain  to  rouse  him  with  the  spur  and  rein, 
for  the  good  steed,  his  labours  o'er,  stretch' d  his  stiff  limbs  to  rise  no 
more;  then,  touch' d  with  pity  and  remorse,  he  sorrow' d  o'er  the  expiring 
horse.  "  I  little  thought,  when  first  thy  rein  I  slack' d  upon  the  banks  of 
Seine,  that  Highland  eagle  e'er  should  feed  on  thy  fleet  limbs,  my  match- 
less steed !  Woe  worth  the  chase,  woe  worth  the  day,  that  costs  thy  life, 
my  gallant  grey ! "  Then  through  the  dell  his  horn  resounds,  from  vain 
pursuit  to  call  the  hounds.  Back  limp'd  with  slow  and  crippled  pace,  the 
sulky  leaders  of  the  chase;  close  to  their  master's  side  they  press' d,  with 
drooping  tail  and  humbled  crest;  but  still  the  dingle's  hollow  throat  pro- 
long'd  the  swelling  bugle-note.  The  owlets  started  from  their  dream,  the 
eagles  answered  with  their  scream,  round  and  around  the  sounds  were 
cast,  till  echo  seem'd  an  answering  blast;  and  on  the  hunter  hied  his  way, 
to  join  some  comrades  of  the  day ;  yet  often  paused,  so  strange  the  road, 
so  wondrous  were  the  scenes  it  show'd.  Scott. 

*  Brigg,  a  bridge. 


VOCAL   EXPRESSION.  147 

XIX.     METHOD  m  DESCRIPTION. 


154    Where  the  quiet-coloured  end  of  evening  smiles,  miles  and  miles, 
On  the  solitary  pastures  where  our  sheep  half-asleep 
Tinkle  homeward  thro'  the  twilight,  stray  or  stop  as  they  crop  — 
Was  the  site  once  of  a  city  great  and  gay  (  so  they  say ), 
Of  our  country's  very  capital,  its  prince,  ages  since, 
Held  his  court  in,  gathered  councils,  wielding  far  peace  or  war. 
"  Love  Among  the  Ruins."  Browning. 

"VTEXT  to  narration,  probably  the  simplest  illustration  of  the 
-*-*  method  of  the  mind  is  in  description.  Power  in  descrip- 
tion is  dependent  upon  the  selection  of  those  fundamental  ele- 
ments which  give  the  definite  character  of  the  object.  One  of 
the  highest  characteristics  of  the  artistic  faculty  hi  man  is  the 
power  to  penetrate  to  those  few  elements  the  expression  of 
which  gives  the  object.  A  penetrative  instinct  is  a  part  of  all 
logical  method  and  of  all  power  in  expression.  Suggestion  is 
one  of  the  highest  laws  of  all  art,  and  suggestion  is  simply  de- 
pendent upon  artistic  choice,  the  manifestation  not  of  accidental, 
but  of  fundamental  elements.  In  a  poem  like  Kubla  Khan,  one 
of  the  finest  descriptive  poems  in  the  language,  there  is  also 
necessary  a  suggestion  of  such  objects  as  will  idealize  and  exalt, 
such  as  will  stimulate  the  mind  to  the  highest  pictorial  endeavor. 
The  mind  of  the  reader  or  speaker  must  have  a  similar  pro- 
cess of  penetration.  If  the  voice  accentuates  accidentals,  the 
picture  of  the  mind  will  be  completely  perverted.  If  the  mind 
of  the  reader  accentuates  carefully  the  subtleties  or  essentials, 
then  the  pictorial  energy  of  the  minds  of  the  audience  will  be 
stimulated.  The  power  of  the  writer  is  especially  shown  in  the 
ability  to  create,  by  his  imagination,  such  a  living  scene,  by  see- 
ing it  from  its  elementals,  or  to  penetrate  to  the  elements  of  a 
beautiful  scene  before  him.  The  power  of  the  reader  depends 
upon  the  re-discovery  of  these  elements,  and  also  more  especially 
upon  the  realization  of  the  essential  words  which  manifest  the 
elements  of  the  picture.    The  writer  selects  words  most  adequate 


148  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

for  the  representation  of  the  scene ;  the  reader,  in  reading  the 
description,  accentuates  the  elemental  words  in  such  a  way  as 
to  dominate  the  attention  of  men. 

Problem  XXXI.  Give  some  descriptive  passage,  subordinating 
all  details  as  much  as  possible. 

Problem  XXXII.  Describe  some  scene,  battle-field,  building, 
or  picture  you  have  seen,  being  careful  to  present  only  points  of 
special  interest  and  to  give  a  definite  impression  with  as  few 
touches  as  possible.  

155    I  watch  the  mowers,  as  they  go 

Through  the  tall  grass,  a  white-sleeved  row. 
With  even  stroke  their  scythes  they  swing, 
In  tune  their  merry  whetstones  ring. 
Behind,  the  nimble  youngsters  run, 
And  toss  the  thick  swaths  in  the  sun. 
The  cattle  graze,  while,  warm  and  still, 
Slopes  the  broad  pasture,  basks  the  hill, 
And  bright,  where  summer  breezes  break, 
The  green  wheat  crinkles  like  a  lake. 
The  butterfly  and  bumble-bee 
Come  to  the  pleasant  woods  with  me; 
Quickly  before  me  runs  the  quail, 
Her  chickens  skulk  behind  the  rail; 
High  up  the  lone  wood-pigeon  sits, 
And  the  woodpecker  pecks  and  flits, 
Sweet  woodland  music  sinks  and  swells, 
The  brooklet  rings  its  tinkling  bells, 
The  swarming  insects  drone  and  hum, 
The  partridge  beats  his  throbbing  drum. 
"Midsummer."  Trowbridge. 

156.    YAKEOW   UN  VISITED. 
Fkom  Stirling  Castle  we  had  seen  the  mazy  Forth  unravell'd, 
Had  trod  the  banks  of  Clyde  and  Tay,  and  with  the  Tweed  had  travell'd; 
And  when  we  came  to  Clovenford,  then  said  my  '  winsome  Marrow,' 
'Whate'er  betide,  we'll  turn  aside,  and  see  the  Braes  of  Yarrow.' 
'  Let  Yarrow  folk,  f rae  Selkirk  town,  who  have  been  buying,  selling, 
Go  back  to  Yarrow,  'tis  their  own,  each  maiden  to  her  dwelling! 
On  Yarrow's  banks  let  herons  feed,  hares  couch,  and  rabbits  burrow, 


METHOD    IX    DESCRIPTION.  149 

But  we  will  downward  with  the  Tweed,  nor  turn  aside  to  Yarrow. 

1  There's  Galla  "Water,  Leader  Haughs,  both  lying  right  before  us; 

And  Dryburgh,  where  with  chiming  Tweed  the  lintwhites  sing  in  chorus; 

There's  pleasant  Tiviotdale,  a  land  made  blythe  with  plough  and  harrow: 

Why  throw  away  a  needful  day  to  go  in  search  of  Yarrow  ? 

'What's  Yarrow  but  a  river  bare  that  glides  the  dark  hills  under? 

There  are  a  thousand  such  elsewhere  as  worthy  of  your  wonder.' 

—  Strange  words  they  seem'd  of  slight  and  scorn;  my  true-love  sigh'd  for 

sorrow, 
And  look'd  me  in  the  face,  to  think  I  thus  could  speak  of  Yarrow! 

'O  green,'  said  I,  'are  Yarrow's  holms,  and  sweet  is  Yarrow  flowing! 

Fair  hangs  the  apple  frae  the  rock,  but  we  will  leave  it  growing. 

O'er  hilly  path  and  open  strath  we'll  wander  Scotland  thorough; 

But,  though  so  near,  we  will  not  turn  into  the  dale  of  Yarrow. 

'  Let  beeves  and  home-bred  kine  partake  the  sweets  of  Burn-mill  meadow ; 

The  swan  on  still  Saint  Mary's  Lake  float  double,  swan  and  shadow  ! 

"We  will  not  see  them;  will  not  go  to-day,  nor  yet  to-morrow; 

Enough  if  in  our  hearts  we  know  there's  such  a  place  as  Yarrow. 

'Be  Yarrow  stream  unseen,  unknown;  it  must,  or  we  shall  rue  it: 
We  have  a  vision  of  our  own,  ah !  why  should  we  undo  it  ? 
The  treasured  dreams  of  times  long  past,  we'll  keep  them,  winsome  Mar- 
row! 
For  when  we're  there,  although  'tis  fair,  'twill  be  another  Yarrow! 
If  care  with  freezing  years  should  come  and  wandering  seem  but  folly,  — 
Should  we  be  loth  to  stir  from  home,  and  yet  be  melancholy ; 
Should  life  be  dull,  and  spirits  low,  'twill  sooth  us  in  our  sorrow 
That  earth  has  something  yet  to  show,  the  bonny  holms  of  Yarrow  ! ' 

Wordsworth. 

157.     YAK&OW  VISITED. 

And  is  this  —  Yarrow  ?  —  This  the  Stream  of  which  my  fancy  cherish'd 
So  faithfully,  a  waking  dream,  an  image  that  hath  perish' d  ? 
O  that  some  minstrel's  harp  were  near  to  utter  notes  of  gladness 
And  chase  this  silence  from  the  air,  that  fills  my  heart  with  sadness ! 
Yet  why  ? —  a  silvery  current  flows  with  uncontroll'd  meanderings; 
Nor  have  these  eyes  by  greener  hills  been  soothed,  in  all  my  wanderings 
And,  through  her  depths,  Saint  Mary's  Lake  is  visibly  delighted; 
For  not  a  feature  of  those  hills  is  in  the  mirror  slighted. 

A  blue  sky  bends  o'er  Yarrow  Yale,  save  where  that  pearly  whiteness 
Is  round  the  rising  sun  diffused,  a  tender  hazy  brightness ; 


150  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Mild  dawn  of  promise!  that  excludes  all  profitless  dejection ; 

Though  not  unwilling  here  to  admit  a  pensive  recollection. 

"Where  was  it  that  the  famous  Flower  of  Yarrow  Yale  lay  bleeding  ? 

His  bed  perchance  was  yon  smooth  mound  on  which  the  herd  is  feeding: 

And  haply  from  this  crystal  pool  now  peaceful  as  the  morning, 

The  water-wraith  ascended  thrice,  and  gave  his  doleful  warning. 

Delicious  is  the  Lay  that  sings  the  haunts  of  happy  lovers, 

The  path  that  leads  them  to  the  grove,  the  leafy  grove  that  covers: 

And  pity  sanctifies  the  verse  that  paints,  by  strength  of  sorrow, 

The  unconquerable  strength  of  love;  bear  witness,  rueful  Yarrow! 

But  thou  that  didst  appear  so  fair  to  fond  imagination 

Dost  rival  in  the  light  of  day  her  delicate  creation : 

Meek  loveliness  is  round  thee  spread,  a  softness  still  and  holy: 

The  grace  of  forest  charms  decay'd,  and  pastoral  melancholy. 

That  region  left,  the  vale  unfolds  rich  groves  of  lofty  stature, 

With  Yarrow  winding  through  the  pomp  of  cultivated  Nature; 

And  rising  from  those  lofty  groves  behold  a  ruin  hoary, 

The  shatter'd  front  of  Newark's  Towers,  renown'd  in  Border  story. 

Fair  scenes  for  childhood's  opening  bloom,  for  sportive  youth  to  stray  in, 

For  manhood  to  enjoy  his  strength,  and  age  to  wear  away  in ! 

Yon  cottage  seems  a  bower  of  bliss,  a  covert  for  protection 

Of  studious  ease  and  generous  cares,  and  every  chaste  affection! 

How  sweet  on  this  autumnal  day  the  wild-wood  fruits  to  gather, 
And  on  my  true-love's  forehead  plant  a  crest  of  blooming  heather! 
And  what  if  I  enwreathed  my  own  ?    'Twere  no  offence  to  reason; 
The  sober  hills  thus  deck  their  brows  to  meet  the  wintry  season. 
I  see — but  not  by  sight  alone,  loved  Yarrow,  have  I  won  thee; 
A  ray  of  Fancy  still  survives  —  her  sunshine  plays  upon  thee ! 
Thy  ever-youthful  waters  keep  a  course  of  lively  pleasure ; 
And  gladsome  notes  my  lips  can  breathe  accordant  to  the  measure. 

The  vapours  linger  round  the  heights,  they  melt,  and  soon  must  vanish; 
One  hour  is  theirs,  nor  more  is  mine  —  sad  thought !  which  I  would  banish, 
But  that  I  know,  wher'er  I  go,  thy  genuine  image,  Yarrow! 
Will  dwell  with  me,  to  heighten  joy  and  cheer  my  mind  in  sorrow. 

Wordsworth. 

158.    EVENING  AT  BOKEBY. 
The  sultry  summer  day  is  done,  the  western  hills  have  hid  the  sun, 
but  mountain  peak  and  village  spire  retain  reflection  of  his  fire.     Old 
Barnard's  towers  are  purple  still,  to  those  that  gaze  from  Toller  Hill;  dis- 


METHOD   IN   DESCRIPTION.  151 

tant  and  high,  the  towers  of  Bowes  like  steel  upon  the  anvil  glows;  and 
Stanmore's  ridge,  behind  that  lay,  rich  with  the  spoils  of  parting  day,  in 
crimson  and  in  gold  arrayed,  streaks  yet  awhile  the  closing  shade,  then 
slow  resigns  to  darkening  heaven  the  tints  which  brighter  hours  have 
given.  Thus  aged  men,  full  loth  and  slow,  the  vanities  of  life  forego,  and 
count  their  youthful  follies  o'er,  till  Memory  lends  her  light  no  more.  The 
eve,  that  slow  on  upland  fades,  has  darker  closed  on  Rokeby's  glades, 
where,  sunk  within  their  banks  profound,  her  guardian  streams  to  meet- 
ing wound.  The  stately  oaks,  whose  sombre  frown  of  noontide  made  a 
twilight  brown,  impervious  now  to  fainter  light,  of  twilight  make  an  early 
night.  Hoarse  into  middle  air  arose  the  vespers  of  the  roosting  crows, 
and  with  congenial  murmurs  seem  to  wake  the  Genii  of  the  stream ;  for 
louder  clamoured  Greta's  tide,  and  Tees  in  deeper  voice  replied,  and  fit- 
ful waked  the  evening  wind,  fitful  in  sighs  its  breath  resigned.        Scott. 

159.    GOOD  BYE, 
Good-bye,  proud  world!  I'm  going  home: 
Thou  art  not  my  friend,  and  I'm  not  thine: 
Long  through  thy  weary  crowds  I  roam ; 
A  river-ark  on  the  ocean  brine ; 
Long  I've  been  tossed  like  the  driven  foam, 
But  now,  proud  world!  I'm  going  home. 

Good-bye  to  Flattery's  fawning  face; 

To  Grandeur  with  his  wise  grimace ; 

To  upstart  Wealth's  averted  eye; 

To  supple  Office,  low  and  high; 

To  crowded  halls,  to  court  and  street; 

To  frozen  hearts  and  hasting  feet ; 

To  those  who  go,  and  those  who  come ; 

Good-bye,  proud  world!    I'm  going  home. 

I  am  going  to  my  own  hearth-stone, 
Bosomed  in  yon  green  hills  alone,  — 
A  secret  nook  in  a  pleasant  land, 
Whose  groves  the  frolic  fairies  planned; 
Where  arches  green,  the  livelong  day, 
Echo  the- blackbird's  roundelay, 
And  vulgar  feet  have  never  trod,  — 
A  spot  that  is  sacred  to  thought  and  God. 

O,  when  I  am  safe  in  my  sylvan  home, 
I  tread  on  the  pride  of  Greece  and  Rome ; 


152  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

And  when  I  am  stretched  beneath  the  pines, 
Where  the  evening  star  so  holy  shines, 
I  laugh  at  the  lore  and  the  pride  of  man, 
At  the  sophist  schools,  and  the  learned  clan; 
For  what  are  they  all,  in  their  high  conceit, 
When  man  in  the  bush  with  God  may  meet! 


Emerson. 


XX.     ANTITHESIS. 


160    Rome  has  the  West.     Let  Palmyra  possess  the  East.     Not  that 

nature  prescribes  this  and  no  more.     The  gods  prospering,  and  I  swear 

not  that  the  Mediterranean  shall  hem  me  in  upon  the  west,  or  Persia  on 

the  east.    Longinus  is  right,  —  I  would  that  the  world  were  mine.   I  feel, 

within,  the  will  and  the  power  to  bless  it,  were  it  so. 

Ware. 


161     And  yet  when  all  is  thought  and  said, 
The  heart  still  overrules  the  head ; 
Still  what  we  hope  we  must  believe, 
And  what  is  given  us  receive; 
Must  still  believe,  for  still  we  hope 
That  in  a  world  of  larger  scope, 
What  here  is  faithfully  begun 
Will  be  completed,  not  undone. 


ONE  of  the  simplest  means  by  which  we  can  test  the  method 
and  processes  of  the  mind,  is  antithesis.  "  Antithesis  is 
the  soul  of  oratory."  All  thinking  is  dependent  upon  discrimi- 
nation ;  this  is  its  most  fundamental  element.  The  application 
of  antithesis  to  Vocal  Expression  and  delivery  was  one  of  the 
earliest  discoveries  in  English  elocution.  Thomas  Sheridan  dis- 
cussed it  in  his  lectures  in  1754.     He  writes:  — 

The  necessity  of  observing  propriety  of  emphasis  is  so  great, 
that  the  true  meaning  of  words  cannot  be  conveyed  without  it. 
For  the  same  individual  words,  ranged  in  the  same  order,  may 
have  several  different  meanings,  according  to  the  placing  of  the 
emphasis.  Thus,  to  use  a  trite  instance,  the  following  sentence 
may  have  as  many  different  meanings  as  there  are  words  in  it,  by 
varying  the  emphasis:  "  Will  you  ride  to  town  to-morrow?"     If 


ANTITHESIS.  153 

the  emphasis  is  on  '  will,'  as,  Will  you  ride  to  town  to-morrow?  it 
implies  that  the  person  spoken  to  had  expressed  before  such  an 
intention,  but  that  there  is  some  doubt  in  the  questioner  whether 
he  be  determined  on  it  or  not,  and  the  answer  may  be,  "  Certainly; " 
or,  "  I  am  not  sure."  If  it  be  on '  you,'  as,  Will  you  ride  to  town  to- 
morrow? the  question  implies  that  some  one  is  to  go,  and  do  you 
mean  to  go  yourself,  or  send  some  one  in  your  stead?  and  the  an- 
swer may  be,  "  No;  but  my  servant  will."  If  on '  ride,'  as,  "Will  you 
ride,  etc.,  the  answer  may  be, "  No;  I  shall  walk,  or  go  in  a  coach." 
If  on  '  town,'  as,  "Will  you  ride  to  town  to-morrow  ?  the  answer  may 
be,  "  No;  but  I  shall  ride  to  the  forest."  If  on  '  to-morrow,'  as, 
"Will  you  ride  to  town  to-morrow?  the  answer  may  be,  "No;  not 
to-morrow, but  the  next  day." 

Many  still  regard  antithesis  as  furnishing  the  whole  secret  of 
emphasis.  The  principle  of  antithesis  may  be  further  illustrated 
by  the  simplest  sentence  we  can  think  of :  "  You  left  your  book 
on  my  table  this  morning."  Any  word  in  this  sentence  may  be 
made  emphatic ;  the  emphasis  in  such  a  case  being  entirely 
dependent,  not  upon  the  sequence  of  ideas,  but  upon  the  anti- 
thesis to  another  idea.  "  You  left  your  book  on  my  table  this 
morning,"  implies  that  the  leaving  of  the  book  is  all  understood ; 
the  point  of  the  assertion  is  upon  the  individual.  Left  may  be 
accentuated  as  the  natural  central  act,  but  with  a  more  salient 
emphasis  it  may  be  taken  as  an  antithesis  in  reference  to  some 
other  act,  or  to  a  question  as  to  how  it  came  there. 

"  You  left  your  book  on  my  table  this  morning."  Everything 
is  implied  except  the  ownership  of  the  book.  The  question 
might  be  answered,  "  No ;  I  left  John's  book ; "  for  such  em- 
phasis not  only  implies  an  antithesis  in  the  mind  of  the 
speaker,  but  it  raises  an  antithesis  in  the  mind  of  the  hearer. 
This  accentuation  also  might  imply  that  a  mistake  had  been  made, 
that  there  had  been  an  intention  to  leave  some  other  person's 
book ;  still  other  situations  would  cause  this  emphasis. 

"  You  left  your  book  on  my  table  this  morning."  The  word 
'book'  is  the  natural  centre  of  the  sentence,  and  emphasis  upon 


154  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

this  may  imply  the  mere  statement  of  the  fact  to  another.  Or 
it  may  be  accentuated  still  more  saliently,  and  then  there  is  an  im- 
plied antithesis  to  other  objects.  An  antithesis  may  be  awak- 
ened, and  may  be  answered,  "  No ;  I  left  my  pencil." 

"  You  left  your  book  on  my  table  this  morning."  The  atten- 
tion of  the  mind  now  is  directed  to  the  place.  "  I  told  you  to  put 
it  under  the  table,  or  in  the  drawer."  "  You  left  your  book  on 
my  table  this  morning."  Instantly  the  mind's  attention  is  directed 
to  a  table  belonging  to  some  one  else.  "  You  left  your  book  on 
my  table  this  morning."  "  That  is  not  the  place  to  leave  it."  Em- 
phasis upon  '  this '  brings  up  the  antithesis,  "  No ;  it  was  yester- 
day morning;"  or  upon  'morning,'  "last  night." 

It  is  a  very  important  discipline,  in  enabling  the  mind  to  grasp 
an  antithesis,  to  take  the  simplest  sentence  like  this,  and  to 
emphasize  every  word  in  succession,  holding  at  the  same  time  a 
definite  antithesis  in  the  mind. 

One  of  the  most  important  exercises  for  the  development  of 
antithesis  is  debate.  A  good  debater  presents  the  arguments 
for  a  question  in  a  great  measure  according  to  the  law  of  anti- 
thesis. Whenever  any  idea  is  presented  as  a  point  in  a  logical 
argument,  it  is  accentuated  with  great  saliency.  Take  the  simple 
sentence, "  Webster  praised  Clay."  Without  emphasis,  this  sen- 
tence is  a  mere  copy-book  illustration;  it  is  a  mere  sentence 
given  as  a  sentence,  and  not  as  a  thought ;  but  when  some  one 
says,  "  Webster  praised  Clay,"  then  it  is  given  as  an  argument  to 
prove  a  point.  I  may  possibly  be  arguing  for  the  nobleness  of 
Clay,  and  I  make  the  statement  to  prove  it.  Again,  "  Webster 
praised  Clay."  Now  I  must  be  talking  about  the  relations  of  the 
two  men,  or  about  Webster's  conduct  toward  Clay.  If  I  should 
say,  "  Webster  praised  Clay"  the  point  which  I  am  trying  to 
prove  must  be  something  like  the  fair-mindedness  of  Webster. 

Antitheses  may  be  expressed  or  implied.  In  the  latter  case, 
the  emphasis  is  very  strong.  There  are  four  degrees  of  em- 
phasis:  first,  the  simple  accentuation  of  the  successive  ideas; 


ANTITHESIS.  155 

secondly,  emphasis  of  central  ideas,  or  those  which  underlie 
many  others;  third,  emphasis  of  an  expressed  antithesis;  and 
fourth,  emphasis  that  will  suggest  an  implied  antithesis.  The 
degree  of  emphasis  is  least  in  the  first,  and  strongest  in  the 
last.     The  second,  however,  may  be  at  times  strongest  of  all. 

Antithesis  is  a  characteristic  of  all  clear  and  forcible  writers. 
One  of  the  most  forcible  writers  in  the  English  language  is 
Macaulay ;  he  is  also  the  most  antithetic.  He  is  accused  of  strain- 
ing an  antithesis,  or  of  sacrificing  truth  sometimes  to  an  antithesis. 
For  example,  in  this  sentence  regarding  Charles,  "  We  charge 
him  with  having  broken  his  coronation  oath,  and  we  are  told  he 
kept  his  marriage  vow."  In  reading  this,  if  a  strong  emphasis 
is  given  to  *  vow,'  it  may  throw  a  slur  upon  marriage.  It  may 
be  read  with  'vow'  subordinated,  that  is,  synonymous  with 
1  oath,'  and  the  antithesis  brought  out  between  '  coronation '  and 
1  marriage.'   This  is,  I  think,  Macaulay's  meaning. 


162  The  Long  Parliament  could  not  trust  the  king.  He  had  no  doubt 
passed  salutary  laws;  but  what  assurance  was  there  that  he  would  not 
break  them?  He  had  renounced  oppressive  prerogatives ;  but  where  was 
the  security  that  he  would  not  resume  them?  The  nation  had  to  deal  with 
a  man  whom  no  tie  could  bind,  a  man  who  made  and  broke  promises  with 
equal  facility,  a  man  whose  honor  had  been  a  hundred  times  pawned,  and 
never  redeemed.  The  Lords  and  Commons  present  him  with  a  bill  in 
which  the  constitutional  limits  of  his  power  are  marked  out.  He  hesitates ; 
he  evades ;  at  last  he  bargains  to  give  his  assent  for  five  subsidies.  The  bill 
receives  his  solemn  assent ;  the  subsidies  are  voted ;  but  no  sooner  is  the 
tyrant  relieved,  than  he  returns  at  once  to  all  the  arbitrary  measures  which 
he  had  bound  himself  to  abandon,  and  violates  all  the  clauses  of  the  very 
Act  which  he  had  been  paid  to  pass. 

For  more  than  ten  years  the  people  had  seen  the  rights  which  were 
theirs  by  a  double  claim,  by  immemorial  inheritance  and  by  recent  pur- 
chase, infringed  by  tbe  perfidious  king  who  had  recognized  them.  At 
length  circumstances  compelled  Charles  to  summon  another  parliament ; 
another  chance  was  given  to  our  fathers ;  were  they  to  throw  it  away  as 
they  had  thrown  away  the  former?  Were  they  again  to  be  cozened? 
Were  they  again  to  advance  their  money  on  pledges  which  had  been  for- 


156  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

feited  over  and  over  again?  Were  they  to  lay  a  second  Petition  of  Right 
at  the  foot  of  the  throne,  to  grant  another  lavish  aid  in  exchange  for  an- 
other unmeaning  ceremony,  and  then  to  take  their  departure,  till,  after 
ten  years  more  of  fraud  and  oppression,  their  prince  should  again  require 
a  supply,  and  again  repay  it  with  a  perjury?  They  were  compelled  to 
choose  whether  they  would  trust  a  tyrant  or  conquer  him.  We  think  that 
they  chose  wisely  and  nobly. 

The  advocates  of  Charles,  like  the  advocates  of  other  malefactors 
against  whom  overwhelming  evidence  is  produced,  generally  decline  all 
controversy  about  the  facts,  and  content  themselves  with  calling  testi- 
mony to  character.  He  had  so  many  private  virtues !  And  had  James 
the  Second  no  private  virtues?  Was  Oliver  Cromwell,  his  bitterest 
enemies  themselves  being  judges,  destitute  of  private  virtues?  And 
what,  after  all,  are  the  virtues  ascribed  to  Charles?  A  religious  zeal, 
not  more  sincere  than  that  of  his  son,  and  fully  as  weak  and  narrow- 
minded,  and  a  few  of  the  ordinary  household  decencies  which  half  the 
tombstones  in  England  claim  for  those  who  lie  beneath  them.  A  good 
father !  A  good  husband !  Ample  apologies  indeed  for  fifteen  years  of 
persecution,  tyranny,  and  falsehood ! 

We  charge  him  with  having  broken  his  coronation  oath ;  and  we  are 
told  that  he  kept  his  marriage  vow!  We  accuse  him  of  having  given  up 
his  people  to  the  merciless  inflictions  of  the  most  hot-headed  and  hard- 
hearted of  prelates ;  and  the  defence  is,  that  he  took  his  little  son  on  his 
knee,  and  kissed  him!  We  censure  him  for  having  violated  the  articles 
of  the  Petition  of  Eight,  after  having,  for  good  and  valuable  considera- 
tion, promised  to  observe  them;  and  we  are  informed  that  he  was 
accustomed  to  hear  prayers  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning!  It  is  to  such 
considerations  as  these,  together  with  his  Vandyke  dress,  his  handsome 
face,  and  his  peaked  beard,  that  he  owes,  we  verily  believe,  most  of  his 
popularity  with  the  present  generation. 
From  the  "Essay  on  Milton."  Macaulay. 


The  study  of  Macaulay  is  a  great  help  to  an  undisciplined 
mind ;  and  to  read  aloud  from  his  works  counteracts  a  tendency 
to  chaotic  thinking,  to  drifting,  or  to  a  lack  of  vigorous  concep- 
tion. In  fact,  "  every  defect  of  mind  may  have  its  appropriate 
receipt,"  and  the  teacher  may  prescribe  the  study  of  authors  in 
Vocal  Expression  according  to  the  student's  needs.  To  make 
authors  models  is  dangerous ;  for  where  a  student  reads  merely 


ANTITHESIS.  157 

a  favorite  author,  he  unconsciously  imitates  the  faults  of  that 
author.  It  is  often  much  more  helpful  for  a  student  to  read  an 
author  who  is  strong  where  he  himself  is  weak.  In  Vocal  Ex- 
pression a  study  of  authors  may  thus  be  made  a  most  important 
means  of  correcting  imperfect  thinking,  and  of  eradicating  all 
defects  of  delivery. 

Every  author  has  a  peculiar  logical  action.  Byron,  in  his 
"  Elegy  on  Thyrza,"  furnishes  a  fine  example  of  the  most 
subtle  logical  method,  though  revealed  in  exquisite  verse.  Mr. 
Palgrave  calls  this  "  a  masterly  example  of  Byron's  command 
of  strong  thought  and  close  reasoning  in  verse."  Shelley  has  a 
more  "  wayward  intensity,"  and  yet  he  is  none  the  less  logical. 
His  is  a  more  passional  method. 

Problem  XXXIII.  Present  a  strong  passage,  setting  ideas  over 
against  each  other,  or  making  them  strongly  antithetic. 

Problem  XXXIV.  Contrast  the  logical  and  antithetic  processes 
of  different  authors  and  be  true  to  the  spirit  of  each. 


163.  ELEGY  ON  THYKZA. 
And  thou  art  dead,  as  young  and  fair  as  aught  of  mortal  birth ;  and 
forms  so  soft  and  charms  so  rare  too  soon  return'd  to  Earth!  Though 
Earth  received  them  in  her  bed,  and  o'er  the  spot  the  crowd  may  tread  in 
carlessness  or  mirth,  there  is  an  eye  which  could  not  brook  a  moment  on 
that  grave  to  look.  I  will  not  ask  where  thou  liest  low  nor  gaze  upon  the 
spot ;  there  flowers  or  weeds  at  will  may  grow  so  I  behold  them  not :  it  is 
enough  for  me  to  prove  that  what  I  loved  and  long  must  love  like  common 
earth  can  rot;  to  me  there  needs  no  stone  to  tell  'tis  nothing  that  I  loved 
so  well.  Yet  did  I  love  thee  to  the  last,  as  fervently  as  thou  who  didst 
not  change  through  all  the  past  and  canst  not  alter  now.  The  love  where 
Death  has  set  his  seal  nor  age  can  chill,  nor  rival  steal,  nor  falsehood  dis- 
avow :  and,  what  were  worse,  thou  canst  not  see  or  wrong,  or  change,  or 
fault  in  me.  The  better  days  of  life  were  ours ;  the  worst  can  be  but  mine : 
the  sun  that  cheers,  the  storm  that  lours  shall  never  more  be  thine.  The 
silence  of  that  dreamless  sleep  I  envy  now  too  much  to  weep;  nor  need  I 
to  repine  that  all  those  charms  have  pass'd  away  I  might  have  watch' d 
through  long  decay.  The  flower  in  ripen' d  bloom  unmatch'd  must  fall 
the  earliest  prey;  though  by  no  hand  untimely  snatch' d,  the  leaves  must 


158  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

drop  away.  And  yet  it  were  a  greater  grief  to  watch  it  withering,  leaf  by 
leaf,  than  see  it  pluck'd  to-day;  since  earthly  eye  but  ill  can  bear  to  trace 
the  change  to  foul  from  fair.  I  know  not  if  I  could  have  borne  to  see  thy 
beauties  fade ;  the  night  that  follow' d  such  a  morn  had  worn  a  deeper 
shade:  thy  day  without  a  cloud  hath  past,  and  thou  wert  lovely  to  the 
last,  extinguish' d,  not  decay' d;  as  stars  that  shoot  along  the  sky  shine 
brightest  as  they  fall  from  high.  As  once  I  wept  if  I  could  weep,  my 
tears  might  well  be  shed  to  think  I  was  not  near,  to  keep  one  vigil  o'er 
thy  bed :  to  gaze,  how  fondly !  on  thy  face,  to  fold  thee  in  a  faint  embrace, 
uphold  thy  drooping  head ;  and  show  that  love,  however  vain,  nor  thou 
nor  I  can  feel  again.  Yet  how  much  less  it  were  to  gain,  though  thou 
hast  left  me  free,  the  loveliest  things  that  still  remain  than  thus  remember 
thee !  The  all  of  thine  that  cannot  die  through  dark  and  dread  Eternity 
returns  again  to  me,  and  more  thy  buried  love  endears  than  aught  except 

its  living  years.  

Byron. 

164     One  word  is  too  often  profaned  for  me  to  profane  it, 
One  feeling  too  falsely  disdained  for  thee  to  disdain  it. 
One  hope  is  too  like  despair  for  prudence  to  smother, 
And  Pity  from  thee  more  dear  than  that  from  another. 
I  can  give  not  what  men  call  love,  but  wilt  thou  accept  not 
The  worship  the  heart  lifts  above,  and  the  Heavens  reject  not, 
The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star,  of  the  night  for  the  morrow, 
The  devotion  to  something  afar  from  the  sphere  of  our  sorrow? 

Shelley. 

165  Farewell.  My  blessing  with  you!  and  these  few  precepts  in  thy 
memory  look  thou  character.  Give  thy  thoughts  no  tongue,  nor  any  un- 
proportioned  thought  his  act.  Be  thou  familiar,  but  by  no  means  vulgar. 
The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried,  grapple  them  to  thy  soul 
with  hooks  of  steel ;  but  do  not  dull  thy  palm  with  entertainment  of  each 
new-hatch' d,  unfledg'd  comrade.  Beware  of  entrance  to  a  quarrel;  but, 
being  in,  bear  it,  that  the  opposed  may  beware  of  thee.  Give  every  man 
thine  ear,  but  few  thy  voice:  take  each  man's  censure,  but  reserve  thy 
judgment.  Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy,  but  not  express' d  in 
fancy ;  rich,  not  gaudy :  for  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man ;  and  they 
in  France,  of  the  best  rank  and  station  are  most  select  and  generous, 
chief  in  that.  Neither  a  borrower,  nor  a  lender  be:  for  loan  oft  loses 
both  itself  and  friend;  and  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry.  This 
above  all,  —  to  thine  own  self  be  true;  and  it  must  follow,  as  the  night 
the  day,  thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 

From  "Hamlet."  Shakespeare. 


SOLILOQUY.  159 

166    Earth  gets  its  price  for  what  Earth  gives  us; 
The  beggar  is  taxed  for  a  corner  to  die  in, 
The  priest  hath  his  fee  who  comes  and  shrives  us, 

We  bargain  for  the  graves  we  lie  in. 
At  the  devil's  booth  all  things  are  sold, 
Each  ounce  of  dross  costs  its  ounce  of  gold; 

For  a  cap  and  bells  our  lives  we  pay, 
Bubbles  we  buy  with  a  whole  soul's  tasking; 

'Tis  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away, 
'Tis  only  God  may  be  had  for  the  asking. 
No  price  is  set  on  the  lavish  summer; 
June  may  be  had  by  the  poorest  comer. 
"  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal."  James  Jiussell  Lowell. 

167  Sometimes  a-dropping  from  the  sky,  I  heard  the  skylark  sing; 

sometimes  all  little  birds  that  are,  how  they  seemed  to  fill  the  sea  and  air 

with  their  sweet  jargoning!    And  now 'twas  like  all  instruments;  now 

like  a  lonely  flute ;  and  now  it  is  an  angel's  song,  that  makes  the  heavens 

be  mute.     It  ceased;  yet  still  the  sails  made  on  a  pleasant  noise  till 

noon,  —  a  noise  as  of  a  hidden  brook  in  the  leafy  month  of  June,  that  to 

the  sleeping  woods  all  night  singeth  a  quiet  tune. 

Coleridge. 


XXI.     SOLILOQUY. 


168    O,  what  a  rogue  and  peasant  slave  am  I! 

Is  it  not  monstrous  that  this  player  here, 

But  in  a  fiction,  in  a  dream  of  passion, 

Could  force  his  soul  so  to  his  own  conceit, 

That  from  her  working  all  his  visage  wann'd, 

Tears  in  his  eyes,  distraction  in's  aspect, 

A  broken  voice,  and  his  whole  function  suiting 

With  forms  to  his  conceit?  and  all  for  nothing! 
"Hamlet."  Shakespeare. 

/^VNE  of  the  simplest  illustrations  of  the  method  of  the  mind 
^-^  in  Vocal  Expression,  is  found  in  rendering  a  soliloquy. 
Shakespeare  is  almost  the  only  one  who  has  been  able  to  express 
in  literary  form  the  difference  between  speaking  to  ourselves 
and  speaking  to  others.  When  we  speak  to  ourselves,  there  is 
a  more  transparent  manifestation  of  thinking  than  when  we 


160  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

are  speaking  to  others.  When  we  are  talking  to  others  we  have 
more  definite  purpose;  we  proceed  along  a  more  prescribed 
path ;  there  is  more  definiteness  in  thinking.  If  we  are  alone, 
this  purpose  is  not  so  manifest.  The  spontaneous  leap  of  the 
mind  from  one  idea  to  another  is  more  free ;  there  is  not  the  same 
domination  over  the  mind  or  direction  of  its  action.  Although 
there  is  always  a  spontaneous  self-direction,  yet  in  soliloquy  the 
self-direction  is  more  spontaneous,  —  it  has  less  to  do  with  will 
than  when  we  are  speaking  to  others. 

A  soliloquy,  then,  will  manifest  to  us  the  subjective  methods 
of  the  mind,  the  free  sequence  of  ideas,  far  better  than  the  study 
of  the  mind  in  talking.  There  is  more  ease,  repose,  and  more 
flexibility,  —  there  is  a  more  direct  and  complete  manifestation  of 
the  mind.  Thus  there  is  more  accentuation  in  soliloquy  than  broad, 
interpretative  emphasis.  Of  course,  as  the  mind  dwells  on  each 
successive  idea  for  its  own  sake,  as  the  sequence  of  ideas  is 
more  passive  and  spontaneous,  so  will  the  voice  manifest  each 
successive  idea  more  for  its  own  sake,  and  in  direct  relation 
to  the  preceding  one.  In  speaking  to  others,  however,  there  is 
a  manifestation  of  each  idea  for  the  sake  of  a  purpose,  and  a 
greater  subordination  of  several  successive  accentuations  to  one 
great  emphatic  word,  which  lies  at  the  basis  of  all  that  is  said. 
Speaking  to  others  is  more  consciously  progressive.  Thus,  inter- 
pretative emphasis  is  not  so  manifest  in  soliloquy  as  simple  suc- 
cessive accentuations. 

Another  difference  between  soliloquy  and  conversation  is  the 
fact  that  there  are  more  pauses  in  soliloquy.  The  mind  rests 
longer  upon  the  ideas,  because  thinking  is  spontaneous  and 
without  preparation ;  because  the  mind  has  not  previously  passed 
over  the  successive  ideas,  or  arranged  them  in  a  special  order ; 
and  also  because  there  is  no  other  mind  present  to  modify  the 
passive  flow  of  ideas,  causing  some  points  to  be  accentuated  and 
others  to  be  subordinated,  so  as  to  awaken  the  idea  in  another. 
The  successive  ideas  are  more  equally  accentuated.   The  rhythm 


SOLILOQUY.  161 

of  the  thought  is  determined  by  the  subjective  passion  and  con- 
ditions of  the  speaker ;  so  the  law  of  association  of  ideas  is  more 
completely  dominant.  The  mind  in  soliloquy  questions  or  in- 
terrogates itself  while  resting  on  one  idea,  and  then  answers  with 
the  next. 

169  To  be  or  not  to  be:  that  is  the  question:  whether 'tis  nobler  in 
the  mind  to  suffer  the  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune,  or  to  take 
arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles,  and  by  opposing  end  them  ?  To  die :  to 
sleep;  no  more ;  and  by  a  sleep  to  say  we  end  the  heart-ache  and  the 
thousand  natural  shocks  that  flesh  is  heir  to:  'tis  a  consummation  de- 
voutly to  be  wish'd.  To  die,  to  sleep;  to  sleep:  perchance  to  dream!  — 
ay,  there's  the  rub;  for  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  come 
when  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil,  must  give  us  pause:  there's 
the  respect  that  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life ;  for  who  would  bear  the 
whips  and  scorns  of  time,  the  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud  man's  con- 
tumely, the  pangs  of  disprized  love,  the  law's  delay,  the  insolence  of 
office  and  the  spurns  that  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes,  when  he 
himself  might  his  quietus  make  with  a  bare  bodkin?  who'd  these  fardels 
bear,  to  grunt  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life,  but  that  the  dread  of  some- 
thing after  death,  the  undiscover'd  country  from  whose  bourn  no  traveller 
returns,  puzzles  the  will  and  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have  than 
fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of  ?  Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards 
of  us  all;  and  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution  is  sicklied  o'er  with  the 
pale  cast  of  thought,  and  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment  with  this 

regard  their  currents  turn  awry,  and  lose  the  name  of  action. 

Shakespeare. 


'  To  be,  or  not  to  be.'  Yes, '  that  is  the  question.'  '  To  die,' 
what  is  it  ?  '  To  sleep,'  —  we  all  say ;  '  no  more ; '  '  and  by  a  sleep 
to  say  we  end  the  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
that  flesh  is  heir  to,'  —  then,  '  'tis  a  consummation  devoutly  to  be 
wish'd.'  '  To  die,  —  to  sleep ;  —  to  sleep ! '  Ah,  there's  some- 
thing more, —  'perchance  to  dream!'  —  'ay,  there's  the  rub;' 
over  each  idea  the  mind  lingers  and  questions,  often  looks  in  many 
directions  for  the  answer,  and  then  seizes  upon  one,  and  gives  it. 

In  talking  to  some  one,  the  speaker  interrogates  another,  and 
consciously  or  unconsciously  adapts  an  idea  to  another  mind. 
By  contrasting  a  monologue  with  a  soliloquy,  we  may  find  an 

11 


162  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

artistic  illustration  of  the  difference  between  thinking  alone  and 
thinking  with  reference  to  another  mind.  A  monologue  is  the 
expression  of  one  speaker  to  a  hearer  who  is  implied  always,  but 
whose  words  are  not  recorded.  In  soliloquy  no  hearer  is  present; 
the  man  simply  thinks  aloud.  In  a  monologue,  only  one  speaks, 
but  he  speaks  in  relation  to  another  mind.  In  order  to  interpret 
or  read  a  monologue,  the  presence  of  the  other  mind  must  be  felt. 
All  thought  must  be  understood  in  relation  to  this  other  mind. 

The  study  of  monologues  is  a  great  help  to  speakers.  There 
is  a  transparency  in  the  method  of  the  thought,  and  also  a  direct 
and  dramatic  relating  of  thought  to  another  mind. 

The  monologues  of  Douglas  Jerrold  give  an  insight  into  the 
working  of  a  type  of  mind.  Insight  into  the  working  of  the 
mind  is  the  true  basis  of  all  expression.  There  can  be  no  great 
speaking,  reading,  or  acting  of  any  kind  without  a  simple  mani- 
festation of  the  process  or  method  of  thinking. 

Browning's  monologues  are  still  more  important,  and  rise  into 
the  highest  realm  of  metaphysical  and  psychological  study. 
Characters  are  presented  more  forcibly,  possibly,  than  anywhere 
outside  of  Shakespeare. 

Problem  XXXV.  Study  the  action  of  the  mind  in  meditation, 
and  give  some  soliloquy  with  a  truthful  revelation  of  the  process 
of  thinking. 

170    Brutus.     What,  Lucius!  ho!  — 
I  cannot,  by  the  progress  of  the  stars, 
Give  guess  how  near  to-day. —  Lucius,  I  say! 
I  would  it  were  my  fault  to  sleep  so  soundly. 
When,  Lucius,  when?    Awake,  I  say!  what,  Lucius! 
Enter  Lucius. 

Lucius.     Call'd  you,  my  lord? 

Brutus.     Get  me  a  taper  in  my  study,  Lucius : 
When  it  is  lighted,  come  and  call  me  here. 

Lucius.     I  will,  my  lord.  [Exit. 

Brutus.     It  must  be  by  his  death :  and,  for  my  part, 
I  know  no  personal  cause  to  spurn  at  him, 
But  for  the  general.     He  would  be  crown'd: 


SOLILOQUY.  163 

How  that  might  change  his  nature,  there's  the  question: 

It  is  the  bright  day  that  brings  forth  the  adder ; 

And  that  craves  wary  walking.     Crown  him !  —  that ;  — 

And  then,  I  grant,  we  put  a  sting  in  him, 

That  at  his  will  he  may  do  danger  with. 

Th'  abuse  of  greatness  is,  when  it  disjoins 

Remorse  from  power;  and,  to  speak  truth  of  Caesar, 

I  have  not  known  when  his  affections  sway'd 

More  than  his  reason.     But  'tis  a  common  proof 

That  lowliness  is  young  ambition's  ladder, 

Where  to  the  climber-upward  turns  his  face ; 

But,  when  he  once  attains  the  upmost  round, 

He  then  unto  the  ladder  turns  his  back, 

Looks  in  the  clouds,  scorning  the  base  degrees 

By  which  he  did  ascend:  so  Csesar  may; 

Then,  lest  he  may,  prevent.     And,  since  the  quarrel 

Will  bear  no  colour  for  the  thing  he  is, 

Fashion  it  thus;  that  what  he  is,  augmented, 

Would  run  to  these  and  these  extremities: 

And  therefore  think  him  as  a  serpent's  egg, 

Which,  hatched,  would,  as  his  kind,  grow  mischievous; 

And  kill  him  in  the  shell.  [Re-enter  Lucius. 

Lucius.    The  taper  burneth  in  your  closet,  sir. 
Searching  the  window  for  a  flint,  I  found 
This  paper  thus  seal'd  up;  and  I  am  sure 
It  did  not  lie  there  when  I  went  to  bed. 

Brutus.     Get  you  to  bed  again ;  it  is  not  day. 
Is  not  to-morrow,  boy,  the  ides  of  March? 

Lucius.     I  know  not,  sir. 

Brutus.     Look  in  the  calendar,  and  bring  me  word. 

Lucius.     I  will,  sir.  [Exit. 

Brutus.     The  exhalations,  whizzing  in  the  air, 
Give  so  much  light  that  I  may  read  by  them. — 

[Opens  the  paper,  and  reads. 
"Brutus,  thou  sleep' st:  awake  and  see  thyself. 
Shall  Rome,  etc.    Speak,  strike,  redress!  — 
Brutus,  thou  sleep'st:  awake!"  — 
Such  instigations  have  been  often  dropp'd 
Where  I  have  took  them  up. 
"  Shall  Rome,  etc."     Thus  must  I  piece  it  out: 


164  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Shall  Rome  stand  under  one  man's  awe?    What!  Rome? 

My  ancestor  did  from  the  streets  of  Rome 

The  Tarquin  drive,  when  he  was  call'd  a  king. — 

"Speak,  strike,  redress!"  — Am  I  entreated 

To  speak  and  strike?    O  Rome,  I  make  thee  promise, 

If  the  redress  will  follow,  thou  receivest 

Thy  full  petition  at  the  hand  of  Brutus!     [Re-enter  Lucius. 

Lucius.    Sir,  March  is  wasted  fourteen  days.         [Knocking  within. 

Brutus.     'Tisgood.     Go  to  the  gate;  somebody  knocks. — 

[Exit  Lucius. 
Since  Cassius  first  did  whet  me  against  Caesar, 

I  have  not  slept. 

Between  the  acting  of  a  dreadful  thing 

And  the  first  motion,  all  the  interim  is 

Like  a  phantasma,  or  a  hideous  dream : 

The  genius,  and  the  mortal  instruments 

Are  then  in  council ;  and  the  state  of  man, 

Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then 

The  nature  of  an  insurrection. 

"Julius  Csesar."  Shakespeare. 

171.  A  CURTAIN  LECTUKE  OF  MES.  CAUDLE, 

Bah!  that's  the  third  umbrella  gone  since  Christmas.  —  What  were 
you  to  do?  Why,  let  him  go  home  in  the  rain,  to  be  sure.  I'm  very 
certain  there  was  nothing  about  him  that  could  spoil.  —  Take  cold,  indeed ! 
He  doesn't  look  like  one  of  the  sort  to  take  cold.  Besides,  he'd  have 
better  taken  cold  than  taken  our  umbrella.  —  Do  you  hear  the  rain,  Mr. 
Caudle?  I  say,  do  you  hear  the  rain?  And,  as  I'm  alive,  if  it  isn't  St. 
Swithin's  day!    Do  you  hear  it  against  the  window? 

Nonsense:  you  don't  impose  upon  me;  you  can't  be  asleep  with  such 
a  shower  as  that!  Do  you  hear  it,  I  say?  Oh,  you  do  hear  it! — Well, 
that's  a  pretty  flood,  I  think,  to  last  for  six  weeks;  and  no  stirring  all  the 
time  out  of  the  house.  Pooh!  don't  think  me  a  fool,  Mr.  Caudle;  don't 
insult  me!  he  return  the  umbrella!  Anybody  would  think  you  were 
born  yesterday.     As  if  anybody  ever  did  return  an  umbrella ! 

There :  do  you  hear  it?  Worse  and  worse.  Cats  and  dogs,  and  for  six 
weeks ;  always  six  weeks ;  and  no  umbrella !  I  should  like  to  know  how  the 
children  are  to  go  to  school  to-morrow.  They  shan't  go  through  such 
weather;  I  am  determined.  No ;  they  shall  stop  at  home,  and  never  learn 
anything,  the  blessed  creatures !  sooner  than  go  and  get  wet !  And  when 
they  grow  up,  I  wonder  who  they'll  have  to  thank  for  knowing  nothing; 


SOLILOQUY.  165 

who,  indeed,  but  their  father?     People  who  can't  feel  for  their  own 
children  ought  never  to  be  fathers. 

But  I  know  why  you  lent  the  umbrella.  Oh,  yes,  I  know  very  well. 
I  was  going  out  to  tea  at  dear  mother's  to-morrow:  you  knew  that,  and 
you  did  it  on  purpose.  Don't  tell  me;  you  hate  to  have  me  go  there, 
and  take  every  mean  advantage  to  hinder  me.  But  don't  you  think  it, 
Mr.  Caudle;  no,  sir;  if  it  comes  down  in  buckets'  full,  I'll  go  all  the 
more.  .  .  .  No,  sir;  I  won't  borrow  an  umbrella:  no;  and  you  shan't 
buy  one.  Mr.  Caudle,  if  you  bring  home  another  umbrella  I'll  throw  it 
into  the  street.  .  .  .  Men,  indeed!  Call  themselves  lords  of  the  crea- 
tion !  pretty  lords,  when  they  can' t  even  take  care  of  an  umbrella !  .  .  . 
The  children,  dear  things!  they'll  be  sopping  wet;  for  they  shan't  stay 
at  home;  they  shan't  lose  their  learning;  it's  all  their  father  will  leave 
them,  I' m  sure.  —  But  they  shall  go  to  school.  Don't  tell  me  they 
needn't:  you  are  so  aggravating,  Caudle,  you'd  spoil  the  temper  of  an 
angel ;  they  shall  go  to  school !  mark  that :  and  if  they  get  their  deaths 

of  cold,  it's  not  my  fault;  I  didn't  lend  the  umbrella. 

Douglas  Jerrold. 

Problem  XXXVI.  Study  the  action  of  your  mind  in  conversa- 
tion, then  give  a  monologue  and  show  the  effect  of  another's 
presence  and  words  upon  your  own  expression. 


172.    MY  LAST  DUCHESS. 

(FERRAKA.) 

That's  my  last  Duchess  painted  on  the  wall, 
Looking  as  if  she  were  alive.     I  call 
That  piece  a  wonder,  now :  Fra  Pandolf '  s  hands 
Worked  busily  a  day,  and  there  she  stands. 
Will 't  please  you  sit  and  look  at  her?    I  said 
"  Fra  Pandolf"  by  design,  for  never  read 
Strangers  like  you  that  pictured  countenance, 
The  depth  and  passion  of  its  earnest  glance, 
But  to  myself  they  turned  (since  none  puts  by 
The  curtain  I  have  drawn  for  you,  but  I) 
And  seemed  as  they  would  ask  me,  if  they  durst, 
How  such  a  glance  came  there ;  so,  not  the  first 
Are  you  to  turn -and  ask  thus.     Sir,  't  was  not 
Her  husband's  presence  only  called  that  spot 
Of  joy  into  the  Duchess'  cheek :  perhaps 
Fra  Pandolf  chanced  to  say,  "  Her  mantle  laps 
Over  my  lady's  wrist  too  much,"  or,  "Paint 


166  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Must  never  hope  to  reproduce  the  faint 

Half -flush  that  dies  along  her  throat:"  such  stuff 

Was  courtesy,  she  thought,  and  cause  enough 

For  calling  up  that  spot  of  joy.     She  had 

A  heart — how  shall  I  say?  —  too  soon  made  glad, 

Too  easily  impressed;  she  liked  whate'er 

She  looked  on,  and  her  looks  went  everywhere. 

Sir,  'twas  all  one!  My  favour  at  her  breast, 

The  dropping  of  the  daylight  in  the  West, 

The  bough  of  cherries  some  officious  fool 

Broke  in  the  orchard  for  her,  the  white  mule 

She  rode  with  round  the  terrace,  —  all  and  each 

Would  draw  from  her  alike  the  approving  speech, 

Or  blush  at  least.     She  thanked  men,  —  good!  but  thanked 

Somehow  —  I  know  not  how  —  as  if  she  ranked 

My  gift  of  a  nine-hundred-years-old  name 

With  anybody's  gift.     Who'd  stoop  to  blame 

This  sort  of  trifling?    Even  had  you  skill 

In  speech —  (which  I  have  not)  —  to  make  your  will 

Quite  clear  to  such  an  one,  and  say,  "  Just  this 

Or  that  in  you  disgusts  me;  here  you  miss, 

Or  there  exceed  the  mark  "  — and  if  she  let 

Herself  be  lessoned  so,  nor  plainly  set 

Her  wits  to  yours,  forsooth,  and  made  excuse, 

E'en  then  would  be  some  stooping;  and  I  choose 

Never  to  stoop.     Oh  sir,  she  smiled,  no  doubt, 

When'er  I  passed  her;  but  who  passed  without 

Much  the  same  smile?    This  grew;  I  gave  commands ; 

Then  all  smiles  stopped  together.     There  she  stands 

As  if  alive.    Will 't  please  you  rise?    We'll  meet 

The  company  below,  then.     I  repeat, 

The  Count  your  master's  known  munificence 

Is  ample  warrant  that  no  just  pretence 

Of  mine  for  dowry  will  be  disallowed; 

Though  his  fair  daughter's  self,  as  I  avowed 

At  starting,  is  my  object.     Nay,  we'll  go 

Together  down,  sir.     Notice  Neptune,  though, 

Taming  a  sea-horse,  thought  a  rarity, 

Which  Claus  of  Innsbruck  cast  in  bronze  for  me! 

Browning. 


SOLILOQUY.  167 

173  When  an  old  bachelor  marries  a  young  wife,  what  is  he  to  expect? 
'Tis  now  six  months  since  Lady  Teazle  made  me  the  happiest  of  men  — 
and  I  have  been  the  most  miserable  dog  ever  since!  We  tift  a  little  going 
to  church,  and  fairly  quarrelled  before  the  bells  had  done  ringing.  I  was 
more  than  once  nearly  choked  with  gall  during  the  honeymoon,  and  had 
lost  all  comfort  in  life  before  my  friends  had  done  wishing  me  joy.  Yet 
I  chose  with  caution  —  a  girl  bred  wholly  in  the  country,  who  never  knew 
luxury  beyond  one  silk  gown,  nor  dissipation  above  the  annual  gala  of  a 
race  ball.  Yet  she  now  plays  her  part  in  all  the  extravagant  fopperies  of 
fashion  and  the  town,  with  as  ready  a  grace  as  if  she  never  had  seen  a 
bush  or  a  grass-plot  out  of  Grosvenor  Square !  I  am  sneered  at  by  all  my 
acquaintance,  and  paragraphed  in  the  newspapers.  She  dissipates  my 
fortune,  and  contradicts  all  my  humours ;  yet  the  worst  of  it  is,  I  doubt  I 
love  her,  or  I  should  never  bear  all  this.  However  I'll  never  be  weak 
enough  to  own  it. 

"School  for  Scandal."  Sheridan. 

174  Didn't  know  Flynn  —  Flynn  of  Virginia  —  long  as  he's  been 
'yar?  Look'ee  here,  stranger,  whar  hev  you  been?  Here  in  this  tunnel, 
he  was  my  pardner,  that  same  Tom  Flynn  —  working  together,  in  wind 
and  weather,  day  out  and  in.  Didn't  know  Flynn!  Well,  that  is  queer. 
Why,  it's  a  sin  to  think  of  Tom  Flynn  —  Tom  with  his  cheer,  Tom  with- 
out fear  —  stranger,  look  'yar!  Thar  in  the  drift  back  to  the  wall  he  held 
the  timbers  ready  to  fall;  then  in  the  darkness  I  heard  him  call  —  "  Run 
for  your  life,  Jake!  Run  for  your  wife's  sake!  Don't  wait  for  me." 
And  that  was  all  heard  in  the  din,  heard  of  Tom  Flynn  —  Flynn  of 
Virginia.  That's  all  about  Flynn  of  Virginia  —  that  lets  me  out  here  in 
the  damp  —  out  of  the  sun  —  that  ar'  dern'd  lamp  makes  my  eyes  run  — 
well,  there  —  I'm  done!  But,  sir,  when  you'll  hear  the  next  fool  asking 
of  Flynn  —  Flynn  of  Virginia  —  just  you  chip  in,  say  you  knew  Flynn  ; 
say  that  you've  been  'yar.  Bret  Harte. 

175.    A  WISH. 
Mine  be  a  cot  beside  the  hill; 
A  bee-hive's  hum  shall  soothe  my  ear; 
A  willowy  brook  that  turns  a  mill, 
With  many  a  fall  shall  linger  near. 

The  swallow,  oft,  beneath  my  thatch 
Shall  twitter  from  her  clay-built  nesfr; 
Oft  shall  the  pilgrim  lift  the  latch, 
And  share  my  meal,  a  welcome  guest. 


168  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

Around  my  ivied  porch  shall  spring 
Each  fragrant  flower  that  drinks  the  dew; 
And  Lucy,  at  her  wheel,  shall  sing 
In  russet-gown  and  apron  blue. 

The  village  church  among  the  trees, 
Where  first  our  marriage-vows  were  given, 
With  merry  peals  shall  swell  the  breeze 
And  point  with  taper  spire  to  Heaven. 


Rogers. 


XXII,  INFLECTIONAL  MODULATION. 


176    I  find  earth  not  grey  but  rosy,  heaven  not  grim  but  fair  oi  hue. 
Do  I  stoop?    I  pluck  a  posy.     Do  I  stand  and  stare?    All's  blue. 

Browning. 

npHE  method  by  which  the  voice  reveals  the  action  of  the 
-*-  mind  in  thinking  has  been  found  to  be  by  means  of  the 
conversational  form.  The  elements  of  this  form  are  very  com- 
plex, but  each  element  or  variation  has  a  meaning,  though  it 
may  be  difficult  always  to  define  it.  To  develop  the  highest  effi- 
ciency in  Vocal  Expression,  it  is  necessary  to  study  the  specific 
meaning  of  each  of  these  elements,  and  the  various  modulations 
of  each  in  the  delivery  of  thought  or  passion. 

Reading  over  these  lines  of  Browning,  we  find  that  there  are 
not  only  changes  of  pitch  and  pauses,  but  there  are  also  changes 
in  the  accented  vowel  itself.  The  pitch  varies  during  the  emis- 
sion of  the  sound.  This  is  called  inflection ;  technically  it  is  due 
to  changes  in  the  length  of  the  sound  waves :  if  they  gradually 
shorten,  the  voice  rises ;  if  they  lengthen,  it  falls. 

Inflection  is  the  most  important  of  all  the  elements  of  conver- 
sational form.  Inflection  bears  the  same  relation  to  the  modula- 
tion of  the  qualities  and  textures  of  the  voice  that  drawing  does 
to  color  in  painting,  or  that  melody  bears  to  harmony  and 
polyphony  in  music.  It  is  not  only  the  fundamental  element 
of  naturalness,  but  the  accentuation  of  inflection  is  also  the  fun- 
damental mode  of  showing  an  increased  degree  of  attention  or 


rNTLECTIONAL  MODULATION.  169 

vigor  of  thinking.  It  manifests  the  most  subtle  relations  of  ideas 
to  each  other,  and  to  the  person  speaking,  —  his  intensity,  his 
earnestness,  his  purpose,  and  also  his  relation  to  his  hearer. 
The  subject  of  inflection  has  received  very  little  attention  from 
scientists.  Herbert  Spencer  says,  "  Cadence  is  a  running  com- 
mentary by  the  emotions  upon  the  propositions  of  the  intellect." 
This  is  a  good  definition  of  all  the  modulations  of  the  voice  in 
Vocal  Expression ;  but  when  we  come  to  a  specific  application 
of  it  to  cadence  or  inflection,  it  is  very  inadequate  and  inaccu- 
rate. The  commentary  on  the  part  of  the  emotions  is  shown 
chiefly  by  the  modulation  of  resonance.  The  inflectional  mod- 
ulation of  the  voice  manifests  more  the  intellectual  relations  of 
the  speaker.  While  the  length  of  the  inflection  and  the  degree 
of  abruptness  may  manifest  degrees  of  earnestness,  conviction, 
excitement,  or  control  over  emotion,  still  the  direction  of  inflec- 
tion is  more  mental.  Such  a  statement  entirely  overlooks  the 
most  important  functions  of  inflection ;  it  fails  to  discriminate 
between  elements  which,  though  simultaneous  in  the  voice,  are 
far  apart  in  meaning. 

Mr.  Gurney  has  said  in  his  book,  "  The  Power  of  Sound," 
that  we  may  say  '  I  love  you '  and  '  I  hate  you '  with  exactly  the 
same  inflection.  This  is  true,  because  the  intellectual  attitude 
of  the  speaker  may  be  the  same.  He  may  make  either  a  posi- 
tive statement,  an  excited  statement,  or  a  hesitating  statement, 
and  each  of  these  would  vary  the  inflection ;  but  the  difference 
between  the  emotions  of  love  and  hate  are  definitely  shown  by  the 
texture  or  color  of  the  voice.  Such  emotional  differences  are 
shown  not  by  the  modulation  of  inflection,  but  by  the  modulation 
of  the  texture  and  resonance  of  the  voice.  The  statement,  how- 
ever, is  true  when  applied  to  modulations  of  the  voice  taken  as  a 
totality  as  in  comparison  with  words. 

To  comprehend  the  meaning  of  inflection,  it  is  important  to 
find  the  elemental  modulations  among  the  infinite  variations. 
There  are  others,  no  doubt,  but  the  chief  ones  are  direction, 


170  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

length,  abruptness,  and  straightness.  The  most  casual  observa- 
tion of  inflection  reveals  the  fact  that  the  voice  rises  and  falls. 
These  two  directions  of  inflection  have  usually  been  represented 
thus :  — 

\     /       /    \ 

Again,  inflections  vary  in  length.  They  may  be  short  or  long, 
which  may  be  represented  thus :  — 

<    \         '  / 

Thirdly,  they  may  vary  in  rapidity ;  that  is,  while  two  inflec- 
tions may  be  of  the  same  relative  length  or  direction,  one  may 
be  quick  or  abrupt,  and  the  other  slower,  or  the  change  of  pitch 
may  be  more  gradual :  — 

^    \      •    / 

Further,  they  may  be  straight  or  crooked.  We  have  straight 
or  direct  inflections,  and  circumfle::  Inflections  of  various 
kinds :  — 

V  /\  /  V/A/ 

It  is  necessary  to  understand  the  meaning,  the  enlargement, 
accentuation,  or  subordination  of  all  these  in  order  to  be  able  to 
trace  faults  to  their  fundamental  elements,  and  to  secure  a 
deeper  consciousness  of  form,  or  naturalness,  as  well  as  to  be 
able  to  command  effectively  all  linguistic  modulations  of  tone. 

The  action  of  the  mind  in  inflection  is  entirely  different  from 
that  of  symbolizing  ideas  in  words;  it  is  more  unconscious, 
more  spontaneous,  more  instinctive.  To  teach  inflection  or  any 
modulations  of  the  voice  in  Vocal  Expression  by  rule,  as  gram- 
mar or  words  are  taught,  is  one  of  the  greatest  blunders  in 
education.  Inflection  stands  for  no  process  of  symbolization  of 
ideas :  it  reveals  the  process  and  not  the  product  of  thought ;  it 


INFLECTIONAL   MODULATION.  171 

shows  the  relation  of  thought  to  others ;  it  shows  the  degree  of 
clearness,  the  centre  of  attention,  the  point  of  the  mind's  con- 
centration ;  it  reveals  the  man  himself  with  his  idea.  While 
words  reveal  the  ideas,  inflections  reveal  the  mind's  attitude 
toward  them.  It  shows  also  the  man's  relation  to  his  auditors ; 
whether  he  presents  his  ideas  to  them,  or  appeals  to  them; 
whether  he  dominates  their  attention  and  endeavors  to  concen- 
trate then  minds  upon  an  idea  of  his  own  selection,  or  expresses 
his  astonishment  or  surprise  at  an  idea  presented  by  his  hearers. 

Problem  XXXVII.  Bead  some  extract  with  the  simplicity  of 
conversation,  and  observe  the  variation  of  the  voice  and  pitch 
within  the  accented  vowels. 

177  MUCKLE-MOUTH  MEG. 
Frowned  the  Laird  on  the  Lord:  "So,  red-handed  I  catch  thee? 

Death-doomed  by  our  Law  of  the  Border ! 
We've  a  gallows  outside,  and  a  chiel  to  dispatch  thee: 

Who  trespasses,  hangs;  all's  in  order." 

He  met  frown  with  smile,  did  the  young  English  gallant: 
Then  the  Laird's  dame:  "Nay,  husband,  I  beg! 

He's  comely :  be  merciful !    Grace  for  the  callant, 
If  he  marries  our  Muckle-mouth  Meg! " 

"No  mile-wide-mouthed  monster  of  yours  do  I  marry; 

Grant  rather  the  gallows ! ' '  laughed  he. 
"Foul  fare  kith  and  kin  of  you  —  why  do  you  tarry?" 

"  To  tame  your  fierce  temper! "  quoth  she. 

"  Shove  him  quick  in  the  Hole,  shut  him  fast  for  a  week: 

Cold,  darkness,  and  hunger  work  wonders ; 
Who  lion-like  roars  now,  mouse-fashion  will  squeak, 

And  'it rains'  soon  succeeds  to  '  it  thunders.'  " 
A  week  did  he  bide  in  the  cold  and  the  dark  — 

Not  hunger :  for  duly  at  morning 
In  flitted  a  lass,  and  a  voice  like  a  lark 

Chirped,  "Muckle-mouth  Meg  still  ye're  scorning? 

"Go  hang,  but  here's  parritch  to  hearten  ye  first!" 

"  Did  Meg's  muckle-mouth  boast  within  some 
Such  music  as  yours,  mine  should  match  it  or  burst: 

No  frog-jaws !    So  tell  folk,  my  Winsome ! " 


172  VOCAL    EXPRESSION. 

Soon  week  came  to  end,  and,  from  Hole's  door  set  -wide, 
Out  he  marched,  and  there  waited  the  lassie : 

"Yon  gallows,  or  Muckle-mouth  Meg  for  a  bride! 
Consider !    Sky '  s  blue  and  turf '  s  grassy : 

"Life's  sweet:  shall  I  say  ye  wed  Muckle-mouth  Meg?" 
"Not  I,"  quoth  the  stout  heart;  "  too  eerie 

The  mouth  that  can  swallow  a  bubblyjock's  egg: 
Shall  I  let  it  munch  mine?    Never,  Dearie!" 

"Not  Muckle-mouth  Meg?    Wow,  the  obstinate  man! 

Perhaps  he  would  rather  wed  me!" 
"  Ay,  would  he  —  with  just  for  a  dowry  your  can ! " 

"I'm  Muckle-mouth  Meg,"  chirruped  she. 

' '  Then  so  —  so  —  so  —  so  —  "  as  he  kissed  her  apace  — 
"  Will  I  widen  thee  out  till  thou  turnest 

From  Margaret  Minnikin-mou' ,  by  God's  grace, 
To  Muckle-mouth  Meg  in  good  earnest!" 


Robert  Browning. 


XXIII.    DIEECTION  OF   INFLECTION. 


178    Not  always  fall  of  leaf,  nor  ever  Spring; 
No  endless  night,  yet  no  eternal  day ; 
The  saddest  birds  a  season  find  to  sing; 
The  roughest  storm  a  calm  may  soon  allay : 
Thus  with  succeeding  turns  God  tempereth  all, 
That  man  may  hope  to  rise,  yet  fear  to  fall. 


Southwell. 


T 


HE  rising  or  the  falling:  of  the  voice  indicates  the  attitude 
of  the  speaker  either  toward  the  thought  he  utters,  or 
toward  the  person  addressed.  For  example,  a  rising  inflection 
may  show  that  the  mind  is  looking  forward ;  a  falling  inflection, 
that  the  mind  is  looking  backward.  If  we  give  the  statement 
of  a  truth  in  respect  to  something  that  is  to  come,  we  generally 
make  a  rising  inflection ;  if  we  make  a  statement  of  truth  com- 
plete in  itself,  we  make  a  falling  inflection.  A  rising  inflection, 
therefore,  indicates  incompleteness;  a  falling  inflection,  complete- 
ness.  The  rising  is  prospective,  the  falling  is  retrospective. 


DIRECTION   OF   INFLECTION.  173 

Again,  if  the  mind  is  questioning  another,  or  making  an  ap- 
peal to  another  as  to  the  truth  of  a  statement,  or  as  to  a  simple 
question  of  fact,  "  Did  you  say  this  ?  "  "  This  is  John,  did  you 
say?  "  a  rising  inflection  is  made ;  but  when  the  mind  is  asserting 
and  expressing  that  of  which  it  is  certain  in  itself,  it  finds  ex- 
pression in  a  falling  inflection.  The  rising  inflection  indicates 
doubt,  and  the  falling  inflection  indicates  certainty. 

Again,  the  rising  inflection  indicates  confusion  in  the  mind  ; 
the  falling  asserts  or  presents  a  definite  conclusion  of  the  mind. 
Thus,  if  I  say,  "  I  must  have  left  my  book  on  this  table  last 
night,"  when  I  am  not  certain  at  all  of  the  statement,  but  am 
looking  for  the  book,  there  is  a  rising  inflection ;  but  if  I  say, 
with  a  falling  inflection,  "I  must  have  left  my  book  on  the  table 
last  night,"  I  have  found  the  book,  or  I  am  perfectly  sure  of  it. 
If  I  meet  a  man,  but  am  not  sure  I  know  him,  I  may  say,  "  This  is 
Mr.  Smith  ?  "  I  look  into  his  face,  and  indicate  my  doubt  by  a 
rising  inflection ;  but  when  I  introduce  him  to  another  man,  and 
say,  "  This  is  Mr.  Smith,"  stating  a  definite  fact  of  which  I  am 
positive,  a  falling  inflection  is  heard.  Phraseology  manifests 
simply  the  grammatical  relation  of  words ;  inflection  manifests 
more  the  logical  relation  of  ideas.  Hence,  inflection  has  to  do 
with  the  attitude  of  the  mind,  its  degree  of  certainty,  its  relation 
to  another  mind,  and  has  nothing  to  do  with  phraseology.  The 
phraseology  may  sometimes  express  the  same  thing,  but  the  in- 
flection is  more  flexible,  and  is  directly  governed  by  the  mental 
attitude  of  the  man. 

Words  show  the  product  of  thought,  but  inflections  show  the 
process ;  words  express  the  opinions  of  the  man,  inflections 
show  the  man  himself ;  words  are  symbols  of  ideas,  inflections 
show  the  relation  of  the  man  to  his  thought,  his  conviction  or 
doubt  of  its  truth,  or  the  relation  of  the  mind  of  the  speaker  to 
the  mind  of  the  hearer,  his  attitude  of  interrogation  or  assertion. 

Again,  the  direction  of  inflection  indicates  the  relation  of  the 
mind  to  several  ideas  in  succession.   I  say,  "  I  hold  here  a  pencil, 


174  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

a  knife,  and  a  key."  If  I  give  each  of  these  objects  specific  at- 
tention, or  present  one  at  a  time,  each  will  have  a  falling  inflec- 
tion, but  if  I  group  all  of  the  three  objects  at  once  in  my  mind, 
the  first  two  will  have  a  rising,  and  the  last  one  a  falling  inflec- 
tion. This  is  another  proof  that  the  direction  of  inflection  is 
indicated  and  regulated  by  the  action  of  the  mind. 


179    There  are  three  pleasures  pure  and  lasting,  and  all  derived  from 
inanimate  things — books,  pictures,  and  the  face  of  nature. 


Hazlitt. 


In  reading  this  sentence,  if  the  mind  takes  the  three  ideas  at 
once,  that  is  to  say,  if  we  group  these  ideas,  we  make  a  rising 
inflection  upon  '  books '  and  '  pictures '  and  a  f ailing  inflection 
on  '  nature.'  If,  on  the  contrary,  we  detach  each  idea  as  an 
object  of  attention,  or  take  each  one  by  the  mind  individually, 
we  give  a  falling  inflection  upon  each  of  the  three. 

The  development  of  inflection,  therefore,  does  not  consist  in 
the  acquisition  of  rules  of  any  kind.  It  must  consist  chiefly  in 
developing  flexibility  of  the  voice  and  the  logical  instincts  of  the 
mind ;  the  power  to  contrast  and  relate  ideas  to  each  other  and 
to  an  underlying  purpose  must  be  trained.  There  must  be 
secured  such  versatility  in  thinking  and  such  responsiveness  of 
voice  that  an  act  of  the  mind  will  cause  an  act  of  the  voice. 

Thus  the  voice  is  inflected  according  to  the  process  or  attitude 
of  the  mind.  If  we  take  an  idea  for  its  own  sake,  we  make  a 
falling  inflection  upon  the  central  idea  or  word  which  stands  for 
it ;  if  we  take  an  idea  in  relation  to  another  idea,  it  is  apt  to  re- 
ceive a  rising  inflection. 

Problem  XXXVIII.  Bead  some  simple  extract,  accentuating 
certain  ideas  as  questions,  and  others  as  answers.  Realize  as 
much  as  possible  the  attitude  of  the  mind  in  a  simple  current  of 
ideas,  and  allow  every  change  of  mental  attitude  to  show  itself  in 
an  inflection. 

180  We  are  perplexed,  but  not  in  despair;  persecuted,  but  not  forsaken; 
cast  down,  but  not  destroyed. 


DIRECTION"    OF    INFLECTION.  175 

181    In  peace,  Love  tunes  the  shepherd's  reed; 

In  war,  he  mounts  the  warrior's  steed; 

In  halls,  in  gay  attire  is  seen; 

In  hamlets,  dances  on  the  green. 

Love  rules  the  court,  the  camp,  the  grove, 

And  men  below,  and  saints  above; 

For  love  is  heaven,  and  heaven  is  love. 

Scott. 


182  When  I  look  upon  the  tombs  of  the  great,  every  emotion  of  envy 
dies  in  me;  when  I  read  the  epitaphs  of  the  beautiful,  every  inordinate 
desire  goes  out;  when  I  meet  with  the  grief  of  parents  upon  a  tombstone, 
my  heart  melts  with  compassion;  when  I  see  the  tomb  of  the  parents  them- 
selves, I  consider  the  vanity  of  grieving  for  those  whom  we  must  quickly 
follow.  When  I  see  kings  lying  by  those  who  deposed  them,  when  I  con- 
sider rival  wits  placed  side  by  side,  or  the  holy  men  that  divided  the  world 
with  their  contests  and  disputes,  I  reflect  with  sorrow  and  astonishment 
on  the  little  competitions,  factions,  and  debates  of  mankind.  When  I 
read  the  several  dates  of  the  tombs,  of  some  that  died  yesterday,  and  some 
six  hundred  years  ago,  I  consider  that  great  day  when  we  shall  all  of  us 
be  contemporaries,  and  make  our  appearance  together. 

"  The  Spectator."  Addison. 

183    Did  ye  not  hear  it?  —  No;  'twas  but  the  wind, 

Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street; 

On  with  the  dance !    Let  joy  be  unconfined ; 

No  sleep  till  morn,  when  Youth  and  Pleasure  meet 

To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet  — 

But,  hark !  —  that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more, 

As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat; 

And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before ! 

Arm!  arm!  it  is  —  it  is  the  cannon's  opening  roar! 

Byron. 


184  What  right  have  you,  O  passer  by  the  way,  to  call  any  flower  a 
weed?  Do  you  know  its  merits?  its  virtues?  its  healing  qualities?  Be- 
cause a  thing  is  common,  shall  you  despise  it?  If  so,  you  might  despise 
the  sunshine  for  the  same  reason. 


185    Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire; 
Hands,  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  sway'd, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre ; 


Oray. 


176  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

186    Cassius.  When  Caesar  liv'd  he  durst  not  thus  have  mov'd  me. 

Brutus.  Peace,  peace !  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted  him. 

Cassius.  I  durst  not? 

Brutus.  No. 

Cassius.  What !  durst  not  tempt  him? 

Brutus.  For  your  life  you  durst  not. 

Shakespeare. 


187  No  sound  of  joy  or  sorrow  was  heard  from  either  bank,  but  friends 
and  foes  in  dumb  surprise,  with  parted  lips  and  straining  eyes,  stood 
gazing  where  he  sank;  and  when  above  the  surges  they  saw  his  crest 
appear,  all  Rome  sent  forth  a  rapturous  cry,  and  even  the  ranks  of  Tus- 
cany could  scarce  forbear  to  cheer. 

Macaulay. 


188.     WANTING  IS -WHAT? 

Wanting  is  —  what? 

Summer  redundant, 

Blueness  abundant,  — 

Where  is  the  blot? 
Beamy  the  world,  yet  a  blank  all  the  same,  — 
Framework  which  waits  for  a  picture  to  frame : 
What  of  the  leafage,  what  of  the  flower? 
Roses  embowering  with  naught  they  embower! 
Come  then,  complete  incompletion,  O  comer, 
Pant  through  the  blueness,  perfect  the  summer! 

Breathe  but  one  breath 

Rose-beauty  above, 

And  all  that  was  death 

Grows  life,  grows  love, 

Grows  love! 

Browning, 

189.    UP-HILL. 
Does  the  road  wind  up-hill  all  the  way? 

Yes,  to  the  very  end. 
Will  the  day's  journey  take  the  whole  long  day? 

From  morn  to  night,  my  friend. 
But  is  there  for  the  night  a  resting-place? 

A  roof  for  when  the  slow  dark  hours  begin. 
May  not  the  darkness  hide  it  from  my  face? 

You  cannot  miss  that  inn. 
Shall  I  meet  other  wayfarers  at  night? 

Those  who  have  gone  before. 


LENGTH    OF   INFLECTION.  177 

Then  must  I  knock,  or  call  when  just  in  sight? 

They  will  not  keep  you  standing  at  the  door. 
Shall  I  find  comfort,  travel-sore  and  weak? 

Of  labor  you  shall  find  the  sum. 

Will  there  be  beds  for  me  and  all  who  seek? 

Yea,  beds  for  all  who  come. 

Christina  Georgina  ltossetti. 


XXIV.    LENGTH  OF  INFLECTION. 


190    Memory  is  the  only  Paradise  from  which  we  cannot  be  driven. 


191     To  arms!  they  come!  the  Greek!  the  Greek! 


IF  we  read  the  first  of  the  above  extracts  simply  and  naturally, 
and  then  give  the  second  with  intensity  and  spirit,  what 
differences  do  we  find  in  the  action  of  the  voice  ?  One  is  a 
greater  variation  of  pitch,  due  not  only  to  the  change  of  pitch 
between  the  words,  but  to  a  greater  length  in  the  inflections  of 
the  accented  vowels. 

Length  of  inflection  is  the  means  usually  adopted  in  conver- 
sation and  all  natural  speaking  to  make  salient  some  specific 
idea.  It  shows  the  degree  of  accentuation,  the  positiveness  of 
conviction  or  excitement,  and  the  intensity  of  interrogation  or 
assertion. 

In  developing  skill  to  lengthen  inflection  there  is  danger  of 
making  it  labored.  All  should  be  as  easy  and  flexible  as  possible. 
Ease  and  naturalness  should  be  preserved,  as  there  is  a  tendency 
not  only  to  force  the  inflection  but  also  to  eliminate  changes  of 
pitch  between  subordinate  words.  In  strong,  natural  emphasis 
length  of  inflection  and  changes  of  pitch  are  always  found 
together.  Whenever  the  elements  of  loudness  are  increased 
without  increasing  the  length  of  inflection,  all  is  made  abnormal, 
and  we  have  the  fault  known  as  declamation.  In  all  increase  of 
emphasis  there  should  be  as  little  increase  in  loudness  as  possi- 
ble ;  because  loudness  is  merely  physical.  Increase  of  emphasis, 
if  dignity  and  intensity  of  thought  are  to  characterize  expression, 
12 


178  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

must  result  from  greater  changes  of  pitch,  longer  pauses,  and 
greater  saliency  of  inflection.  In  all  natural  and  noble  speech 
increase  of  earnestness  is  shown  not  by  increase  of  loudness,  but 
by  lengthening  the  pauses  and  increasing  the  range  of  voice  by 
means  of  wider  intervals  of  pitch  between  the  words  and  longer 
inflections  in  the  vowels. 

Problem  XXXIX.  Speak  the  simplest  sentence  with  as  much 
conversational  ease  as  possible ,  then  give  in  contrast  an  emphatic 
passage,  and  observe  the  difference  in  the  action  of  the  voice. 


192    Simplicity  of  character  is  the  natural  result  of  profound  thought. 

Hazlitt. 

193      Come  as  the  winds  come,  when  forests  are  rended, 
Come  as  the  waves  come,  when  navies  are  stranded. 
"Pibroch."  ■ . — -  Scott. 

194  "Who  dares" — this  was  the  patriot's  cry,  as  striding  from  the 
desk  he  came  —  "  Come  out  with  me,  in  Freedom's  name,  for  her  to  live, 
for  her  to  die!"  A  hundred  hands  flung  up  reply,  a  hundred  voices 
answered,  "I!"  T.  B.  Read. 

Problem  XL.  Give  some  simple  passage,  first  indifferently,  and 
then  with  genuine  earnestness,  without  increasing  loudness,  and 
observe  the  effect  upon  the  inflections. 


195    Most  wretched  men  are  cradled  into  poetry  by  wrong ;  they  learn 
in  suffering  what  they  teach  in  song. 
"Julian  and  Maddalo."  Shelley. 

Problem  XLI.  Give  some  passage  simply,  as  to  one  person, 
and  then  with  great  earnestness,  so  as  to  dominate  the  attention  of 
a  thousand  people,  without  changing  the  elements  of  naturalness. 


196  Hast  not  thy  share?  On  winged  feet,  lo!  it  rushes  thee  to  meet: 
And  all  that  Nature  made  thine  own,  floating  in  air  or  pent  in  stone, 
Will  rive  the  hills  and  swim  the  sea,  and,  like  thy  shadow,  follow  thee. 

Emerson. 

Problem  XLII.  Contrast  the  earnestness  and  excitement  of  a 
noble  with  those  of  a  less  noble  character,  also  one  with  great  self- 
control  with  another  with  nervous  excitability. 


LENGTH   OF  INFLECTION".  179 

197    Brutus.  Go  to ;  you  are  not  Cassius. 

Cassius.     I  am. 

Brutus.     I  say  you  are  not. 

Cassius.    Urge  me  no  more,  I  shall  forget  myself; 
Have  mind  upon  your  health,  tempt  me  no  further. 

Brutus.     Away,  slight  man  1 

Cassius.    Is't  possible? 

Brutus.  Hear  me,  for  I  will  speak. 

Must  I  give  way  and  room  to  your  rash  choler? 
Shall  I  be  frighted  when  a  madman  stares? 


108    Cassius.    I  denied  you  not.    Brutus.   You  did.    Cassius.  I  did  not. 

Problem  XLIII.  Bead  passages  with  various  degrees  of  earnest- 
ness, excitement,  and  dignity,  and  make  the  contrasts  by  inflectional 
modulations  rather  than  by  loudness. 


199    New  occasions  teach  new  duties ;  -Time  makes  ancient  good  uncouth ; 
They  must  upward  still,  and  onward,  who  would  keep  abreast  with  Truth; 
Lo,  before  us  gleam  her  camp-fires !  we  ourselves  must  Pilgrims  be, 
Launch  our  Mayflower,  and  steer  boldly  through  the  desperate  winter  sea, 
Nor  attempt  the  Future's  portal  with  the  Past's  blood-rusted  key. 
"The  Present  Crisis."  ,  James  Russell  Lowell. 

200.  SOLITUDE 
Solitude,  though  it  may  be  silent  as  light,  is,  like  light,  the  mightiest 
of  agencies;  for  solitude  is  essential  to  man.  All  men  come  into  this 
world  alone;  all  leave  it  alone.  Even  a  little  child  has  a  dread,  whisper- 
ing consciousness,  that,  if  he  should  be  summoned  to  travel  into  God's 
presence,  no  gentle  nurse  will  be  allowed  to  lead  him  by  the  hand,  nor 
mother  to  carry  him  in  her  arms,  nor  little  sister  to  share  his  trepidations. 
King  and  priest,  warrior  and  maiden,  philosopher  and  child,  all  must 
walk  those  mighty  galleries  alone.  The  solitude,  therefore,  which  in 
this  world  appalls  or  fascinates  a  child's  heart,  is  but  the  echo  of  a  far 
deeper  solitude,  through  which  already  he  has  passed,  and  of  another  soli- 
tude deeper  still,  through  which  he  has  to  pass:  reflex  of  one  solitude  — 
prefiguration  of  another; 

-  Deep  is 'the  solitude  of  millions  who,  with  hearts  welling  forth  love, 
have  none  to  love  them.  Deep  is  the  solitude  of  those  who,  under  secret 
griefs,  have  none  to  pity  them.  Deep  is  the  solitude  of  those  who, 
fighting  with  doubts  or  darkness,  have  none  to  counsel  them.    But  deeper 


180  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

than  the  deepest  of  these  solitudes  is  that  which  broods  over  childhood 
under  the  passion  of  sorrow — bringing  before  it,  at  intervals,  the  final 
solitude  which  watches  for  it,  and  is  waiting  for  it  within  the  gates  of 
death.  O  mighty  and  essential  solitude,  that  wast,  and  art,  and  art  to 
be,  thy  kingdom  is  made  perfect  in  the  grave;  but  even  over  those  that 
keep  watch  outside  the  grave,  thou  stretchest  out  a  scepter  of  fascination. 

DeQuincy. 

XXV.    ABRUPTNESS  OF  INFLECTION. 

rpHE  abruptness  of  an  inflection,  or  the  rapidity  with  which 
-*-  the  sound-waves  change  then-  length  in  an  inflection,  is  in 
proportion  to  the  excitement,  or,  at  times,  to  the  lack  of  control. 
In  one  who  is  deliberate,  the  inflection  changes  its  pitch  inside 
of  the  vowel  more  slowly  and  gradually,  while  in  one  who  is  in 
an  explosive  mood  of  mind,  all  changes,  but  especially  the  con- 
crete changes  of  pitch  in  the  inflection,  are  more  rapid.  Again, 
the  degree  of  abruptness  shows  the  kind  of  excitement.  Where 
the  excitement  is  superficial,  the  tendency  will  be  to  quick  in- 
flections. In  proportion  as  the  excitement  is  deep  and  under 
control  of  will,  the  inflections  will  be  more  gradual,  or  will  have 
less  abruptness,  and  will  be  longer. 

Abruptness  in  inflection  may  also  vary  with  temperament.  A 
man  of  nervous  temperament,  who  is  very  quick  in  his  thought, 
usually  has  more  abrupt  inflections,  while  one  who  is  more 
deliberative  and  slow  in  thinking  not  only  tends  to  speak  more 
slowly,  but  the  changes  of  pitch  in  his  inflections  are  more 
gradual.  Abruptness  may  sometimes  be  nervous  jerkiness, 
which  may  amount  to  a  fault.  Again,  definiteness  of  touch  and 
decision  of  execution  require  that  there  shall  be  no  drag  in 
inflection :  every  inflection  must  be  definite  and  decided. 

A  certain  degree  of  abruptness  of  inflection  manifests  vigor 
of  thought.  Where  inflections  are  too  long,  we  have  a  tire- 
some drawl,  which  is  a  very  serious  defect.  Again,  where 
inflections  are  too  slow,  there  is  a  tendency  to  circumflex  or 
minor  inflection,  and  various  cadences  of  weakness.     It  is  most 


ABRUPTNESS   OF  INFLECTION.  181 

important  that  inflections  should  have  the  element  of  decision, 
A  certain  degree  of  abruptness  is  a  fundamental  characteristic 
of  decision  in  touch ;  but  the  variation  of  the  abruptness  of  in- 
flection must  never  go  so  far  as  to  become  a  jerk  on  the  one 
hand  or  a  drag  on  the  other.  Colloquial  inflections,  as  a  rule, 
are  short  and  abrupt.  Whenever  a  speaker  has  depth  of  mean- 
ing, when  his  appeal  is  to  spiritual  or  noble  motives,  and  when 
he  asks  for  contemplative  attention,  his  inflections  tend  to  be  more 
gradual  or  less  abrupt. 

Problem  XLIV.  Observe  the  effect  of  abandon  to  excitement 
upon  the  inflections  when  Hamlet  speaks  to  his  companions,  and 
the  effect  of  resolution  and  reverence  when  he  speaks  to  the  ghost. 


201     Unhand  me,  gentlemen! 
By  heaven,  I'll  make  a  ghost  of  him  that  lets  me! 
I  say  away!  —  Go  on;  I'll  follow  thee! 


Problem  XLV.  Note  the  effect  of  excitement  upon  the  abrupt- 
ness of  Hamlet's  inflections.  At  first,  he  is  indifferent,  and  the 
inflections  are  slow,  but  in  his  second  speech,  surprise  and  excite- 
ment cause  them  to  be  quick  and  abrupt. 


202  "Saw  who?"     " My  Lord,  the  king,  your  father."     "The  king, 

my  father?  "  

Problem  XLVI.  Bead  a  simple  sentence,  and  appeal  only  to  the 
understanding  as  in  ordinary  conversation;  and  then  give  the  same, 
or  another,  and  endeavor  to  awaken  spiritual  insight  or  mystic  con- 
templation. 

203  The  seat  of  knowledge  is  in  the  head;  of  wisdom,  in  the  heart 

We  are  sure  to  judge  wrong  if  we  do  not  feel  right. 

Hazlitt. 


204    Pbttne  thou  thy  words,  thy  thoughts  control, 
That  o'er  thee  swell  and  throng; 
They  will  condense  within  thy  soul, 
And  change  to  purpose  strong. 


Newman 


182  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

205    Fight,  gentlemen  of  England!  fight,  bold  yeomen! 
Draw,  archers,  draw  your  arrows  to  the  head : 
Spur  your  proud  horses  hard,  and  ride  in  blood; 
Amaze  the  welkin  with  your  broken  staves. 
"Richard  III."  _____  Shakespeare. 

206    Flowers  laugh  before  thee  on  their  beds,  and  fragrance  in  thy 
footing  treads;  thou  dost  preserve  the  Stars  from  wrong;  and  the  most 
ancient  Heavens,  through  Thee,  are  fresh  and  strong. 
"Ode  to  Duty."  Wordsworth. 

207    King  Charles,  and  who'll  do  him  right  now? 
King  Charles,  and  who's  ripe  for  fight  now? 
Give  a  rouse :  here's,  in  hell' s  despite  now, 
King  Charles ! 
"  Give  a  Rouse."  ^^^^  Browning. 

208    We  drink  the  downfall  of  an  accursed  land ! 

"  The  night  is  growing  darker,  ere  one  more  day  is  flown, 
Bregenz,  our  foeman's  stronghold,  Bregenz  shall  be  our  own!" 
The  women  shrank  in  terror  (yet  pride,  too,  had  her  part), 
But  one  poor  Tyrol  maiden  felt  death  within  her  heart. 


209.    FARTING  OF  MAEMION  AND   DOUGLAS. 

.  .  .  The  train  from  out  the  castle  drew,  but  Marmion  stopp'd  to  bid 
adieu: — "  Though  something  I  might  plain,"  he  said,  "of  cold  respect 
to  stranger  guest,  sent  hither  by  your  King's  behest,  while  in  Tantallon's 
towers  I  staid;  part  we  in  friendship  from  your  land,  and,  noble  Earl, 
receive  my  hand."  But  Douglas  round  him  drew  his  cloak,  folded  his 
arms,  and  thus  he  spoke:  —  "  My  manors,  halls,  and  bowers  shall  still  be 
open,  at  my  Sovereign's  will,  to  each  one  whom  he  lists,  howe'er  unmeet 
to  be  the  owner's  peer.  My  castles  are  my  King's  alone,  from  turret  to 
foundation-stone;  the  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own,  and  never  shall  in 
friendly  grasp  the  hand  of  such  as  Marmion  clasp."  Burn'd  Marmion' s 
swarthy  cheek  like  fire,  and  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire,  and  —  "  This  to 
me! "  he  said,  —  "  and  'twere  not  for  thy  hoary  beard,  such  hand  as  Mar- 
mion' s  had  not  spared  to  cleave  the  Douglas'  head !  And  first  I  tell  thee, 
haughty  Peer,  he,  who  does  England's  message  here,  although  the  meanest 
n  her  state,  may  well,  proud  Angus,  be  thy  mate :  and,  Douglas,  more  I 
tell  thee  here,  even  in  thy  pitch  of  pride,  here  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals 
near,  —  nay,  never  look  upon  your  lord,  and  lay  your  hands  upon  your 
eword,  —  I  tell  thee,  thou'rt  defied!    And  if  thou  said'st  I  am  not  peer  to 


EMOTION   AND    INFLECTION.  .    183 

any  lord  in  Scotland  here,  lowland  or  highland,  far  or  near,  Lord  Angus, 
thou  hast  lied!"  On  the  Earl's  cheek  the  flush  of  rage  o'ercame  the 
ashen  hue  of  age:  fierce  he  broke  forth,  —  "And  darest  thou,  then,  to 
beard  the  lion  in  his  den,  the  Douglas  in  his  hall?  And  hopest  thou  hence 
unscathed  to  go?  —  No,  by  Saint  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no !  Up  drawbridge, 
grooms  —  what,  Warder,  ho!  let  the  portcullis  fall."  Lord  Marmion 
turn'd, — well  was  his  need,  and  dash'd  the  row  sis  in  his  steed,  like 
arrow  through  the  archway  sprung,  the  ponderous  grate  behind  him  rung : 
to  pass  there  was  such  scanty  room,  the  bars,  descending,  razed  his  plume. 
The  steed  along  the  drawbridge  flies,  just  as  it  trembled  on  the  rise;  nor 
lighter  does  the  swallow  skim  along  the  smooth  lake's  level  brim:  and 
when  Lord  Marmion  reach' d  his  band,  he  halts,  and  turns  with  clenched 
hand,  and  shout  of  loud  defiance  pours,  and  shook  his  gauntlet  at  the 
towers. 

"Horse!  horse!"  the  Douglas  cried,  "and  chase!"  But  soon  he 
rein'd  his  fury's  pace:  "A  royal  messenger  he  came,  though  most  un- 
worthy of  the  name.  .  .  .  Old  age  ne'er  cools  the  Douglas  blood,  I  thought 
to  slay  him  where  he  stood.  'Tis  pity  of  him  too,"  he  cried:  "  Bold  can 
he  speak,  and  fairly  ride,  I  warrant  him  a  warrior  tried."     With  this  his 

mandate  he  recalls,  and  slowly  seeks  his  castle  halls. 

Scotf. 


XXVL    EMOTION  AND  INFLECTION. 


210  I  am  astonished,  shocked,  to  hear  such  principles  confessed,  —  to 
hear  them  avowed  in  this  house,  or  even  in  this  country;  —  principles 
equally  unconstitutional,  inhuman,  and  unchristian ! 


211    Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man, 

Whose  trembling  limbs  have  borne  him  to  your  door. 


rpHERE  is  a  tendency  in  certain  emotions  to  modify  the 
-*-  abruptness  of  the  inflection.  Sorrow",  for  example,  tends 
to  less  abruptness  than  joy.  The  chief  difference,  however,  be- 
tween the  expression  of  two  emotions  is  in  the  tone-color,  and 
not  in  the  modulation  of  the  inflections.  Inflection  is  more  the 
manifestation  or  language  of  thought,  and  the  relation  of  thought 
to  the  thinker  or  to  his  audience,  while  tone-color  manifests  the 
feeling.    The  modulation  of  the  textures  of  the  muscles  causing 


184  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

the  resonance  of  the  voice  manifests  the  feeling  and  emotional 
conditions,  while  the  inflections  give  the  more  intellectual  rela- 
tions. Inflection  is  the  chief  element  of  form,  and  form  does  not 
change  with  color.  Color  reveals  the  depth  of  feeling,  the  form 
shows  the  essential  meaning. 

In  studying  the  abruptness  or  gradation  of  inflection,  the 
nature  of  minor  inflections  and  the  distinction  between  major 
and  minor  inflections  will  be  mrde  clearer.  Minor  inflections 
present  many  difficulties ;  in  general  they  suggest  the  chromatic 
scale,  while  major  inflections  suggest  the  diatonic  scale.  Minor 
inflections  are  manif  estive  of  weakness.  Such  weakness  may  be 
physical  or  mental,  or  it  may  be  due  to  a  lack  of  volitional  con- 
trol. Major  inflections  predominate  in  the  expression  of  all 
normal  emotions  and  characters.  To  say  that  sorrow  is  to  be 
rendered  by  minor  inflections  is  to  misconceive  wholly  the  nature 
of  expression.  It  is  not  the  sorrow,  but  the  lack  of  control  over 
it,  the  weak  yielding  to  it,  that  causes  minor  inflections.  The 
true  expression  of  sorrow  in  a  noble  man  implies  a  struggle  to 
control  it.  Manly  courage  and  resolution  are  important  elements 
in  the  expression  of  sorrow.  A  pathetic  poem  is  read  with  de- 
cided touch  and  inflection,  or  it  is  the  expression  of  weakness. 

The  chief  requisite  for  the  proper  expression  of  sorrow  is  con- 
trol of  breath.  Pathos  requires  more  effort  to  secure  control 
over  breath,  and  hence  requires  more  breath :  it  has  a  stronger 
"  vocal  struggle  "  than  any  other  emotion.  The  struggle  with 
the  sorrow  shows  itself  in  a  struggle  with  the  breath.  Such  a 
struggle  requires  time ;  hence  pauses  are  prolonged  in  all  ex- 
pression of  pathos.  This  retention  of  breath  with  the  muscles 
soft  gives  true  tone  color,  and  is  the  most  effective  expression 
of  pathos.  It  is  the  way  a  strong  man  speaks  when  in  great 
sorrow ;  he  does  not '  whine.'  Minor  inflections  are  one  of  the 
worst  faults  of  Vocal  Expression.  The  cure  for  them  depends 
upon  the  development  of  strength  and  control,  —  control  over 
breath  and  over  emotion. 


EMOTION-   AND   INFLECTION.  185 

Take  Scott's  "  Maid  of  Neidpath,"  a  poem,  as  Tennyson  once 
remarked,  "  almost  more  pathetic  than  a  man  has  a  right  to  be," 
and  try  how  any  median  stress  or  minor  inflections,  semitonic 
melodies  or  tremolos,  will  degrade  it.  Then,  using  natural 
touch,  inflections,  and  intervals,  express  the  feeling  with  the 
simplest  modulation  of  the  voice,  but  with  great  intensity. 

Problem  XLYII.  Contrast  the  sorrow  of  a  weak  character  with 
that  of  a  strong  one.  Give  pain  with  weakness  and  also  with  heroic 
endurance.     (See  No.  211.) 

Problem  XLVIII.  Head  sorrow  and  manifest  the  strength  to 
control  it,  the  strength  that  awakens  to  bear  it,  rather  than  the 
tendency  to  passively  yield  to  it.  Preserve  definiteness  of  inflec- 
tion as  the  means  of  revealing  the  thought,  and  manifest  the  feel- 
ing by  modulation  of  texture  and  color. 

212.    THE   MAID   OF  NEIDPATH. 
O  lovers'  eyes  are  sharp  to  see,  and  lovers'  ears  in  hearing; 
And  love,  in  life's  extremity,  can  lend  an  hour  of  cheering. 
Disease  had  been  in  Mary's  bower  and  slow  decay  from  mourning, 
Though  now  she  sits  on  Neidpath' s  tower  to  watch  her  Love's  returning. 
All  sunk  and  dim  her  eyes  so  bright,  her  form  decay' d  by  pining, 
Till  through  her  wasted  hand,  at  night,  you  saw  the  taper  shining. 
By  fits  a  sultry  hectic  hue  across  her  cheek  was  flying; 
By  fits  so  ashy  pale  she  grew  her  maidens  thought  her  dying. 
Yet  keenest  powers  to  see  and  hear  seem'd  in  her  frame  residing; 
Before  the  watch-dog  prick' d  his  ear  she  heard  her  lover's  riding; 
Ere  scarce  a  distant  form  was  kenn'd  she  knew  and  waved  to  greet  him, 
And  o'er  the  battlement  did  bend  as  on  the  wing  to  meet  him. 

He  came  —  he  pass' d  —  an  heedless  gaze  as  o'er  some  stranger  glancing; 
Her  welcome,  spoke  in  faltering  phrase,  lost  in  his  courser's  prancing  — 
The  castle-arch,  whose  hollow  tone  returns  each  whisper  spoken, 
Could  scarcely  catch  the  feeble  moan  which  told  her  heart  was  broken. 

Scott. 

213    Earl.  March  look'd  on  his  dying  child, 
And  smit  with  grief  to  view  her  — 
The  youth,  he  cried,  whom  I  exiled, 
Shall  be  restored  to  woo  her. 


186  VOCAL   EXPEESSION. 

She's  at  the  window  many  an  hour 

His  coming  to  discover: 
And  he  look'd  up  to  Ellen's  bower, 

And  she  look'd  on  her  lover — 

But  ah !  so  pale,  he  knew  her  not, 

Though  her  smile  on  him  was  dwelling  — 
And  am  I  then  forgot — forgot? 

It  broke  the  heart  of  Ellen. 
In  vain  he  weeps,  in  vain  he  sighs, 

Her  cheek  is  cold  as  ashes; 
Nor  love's  own  kiss  shall  wake  those  eyes 

To  lift  their  silken  lashes.  T.  Campbell. 


Problem  XLIX.     Contrast  emotions  and  note  the  true  and  the 
false  differences  that  may  occur. 


214    Wilt  thou  be  gone?    It  is  not  yet  near  day : 

It  was  the  nightingale,  and  not  the  lark, 

That  pierced  the  fearful  hollow  of  thine  ear; 

Nightly  she  sings  in  yon  pomegranate-tree: 

Believe  me,  love,  it  was  the  nightingale. 
"Romeo  and  Juliet."  Shakespeare. 

215    The  moving  moon  went  up  the  sky,  and  nowhere  did  abide: 

softly  she  was  going  up,  and  a  star  or  two  beside  —  her  beams  bemocked 

the  sultry  main,  like  April  hoar-frost  spread;  but  where  the  ship's  huge 

shadow  lay,  the  charmed  water  burnt  alway,  a  still  and  awful  red. 

Coleridge. 

216    Love  had  he  found  in  huts  where  poor  men  lie; 

His  daily  teachers  had  been  woods  and  rills, 

The  silence  that  is  in  the  starry  sky, 

The  sleep  that  is  among  the  lonely  hills.  Wordsworth. 


217    Strew  on  her  roses,  roses,  and  never  a  spray  of  yew. 

In  quiet  she  reposes :  ah !  would  that  I  did  too. 

Her  mirth  the  world  required :  she  bathed  it  in  smiles  of  glee, 

But  her  heart  was  tired,  tired,  and  now  they  let  her  be. 

Her  life  was  turning,  turning,  in  mazes  of  heat  and  sound. 

But  for  peace  her  soul  was  yearning,  and  now  peace  laps  her  round. 

Her  cabined,  ample  spirit,  it  fluttered  and  failed  for  breath. 

To-night  it  doth  inherit  the  vasty  Hall  of  Death. 
"Requiescat,"  Matthew  Arnold. 


EMOTION    AND    INFLECTION. 

218.    TO  THE  SKYLABK. 
Awake  ere  the  morning  dawn,  — skylark,  arise! 
The  last  of  the  stars  hath  waxed  dim  in  the  skies; 
The  peak  of  the  mountain  is  purpled  in  light, 
And  the  grass  with  the  night  dew  is  diamonded  white ; 
The  young  flowers  at  morning's  call  open  their  eyes  — 
Then  up  ere  the  break  of  day,  skylark,  arise ! 
Earth  starts  like  a  sluggard  half  roused  from  a  dream; 
Pale  and  ghost-like  the  mist  floats  away  from  the  stream, 
And  the  cataract  hoarsely,  that  all  the  night  long 
Poured  forth  to  the  desolate  darkness  its  song, 
Now  softens  to  music  as  brighten  the  skies  — 
Then  up  ere  the  dawn  of  day,  skylark,  arise ! 
Arise  from  the  clover,  and  up  to  the  cloud, 
Ere  the  sun  leaves  his  chamber  in  majesty  proud, 
And,  ere  his  light  lowers  to  earth's  meaner  things, 
Catch  tbe  stainless  effulgence  of  heaven  on  thy  wings, 
While  thy  gaze  as  thou  soarest  and  singest  shall  feast 
On  the  innermost  shrine  of  the  uttermost  east. 
Up,  up  with  a  loud  voice  of  singing !  the  bee 
Will  be  out  to  the  bloom,  and  the  bird  to  the  tree; 
The  trout  to  the  pool,  and  the  par  to  the  rill, 
The  flock  to  the  plain,  and  the  deer  to  the  hill; 
Soon  the  marsh  will  resound  to  the  plover's  lone  cries  — 
Then  up  ere  the  dawn  of  day,  skylark,  arise ! 
Up,  up  with  thy  praise-breathing  anthem !  alone 
The  drowsyhead,  man,  on  his  bed  slumbers  prone; 
The  stars  may  go  down,  and  the  sun  from  the  deep 
Burst  forth,  still  his  hands  they  are  folded  in  sleep. 
Let  the  least  in  creation  the  greatest  despise  — 
Then  up  to  heaven's  threshold,  blithe  skylark,  arise! 


187 


David  M.  Moir. 


219.    BEFORE  SEDAN. 
"  The  dead  hand  clasped  a  letter." 

Hebe,  in  this  leafy  place,  quiet  he  lies,  cold,  with  his  sightless  face 
turned  to  the  skies;  'tis  but  another  dead;  all  you  can  say  is  said.  Carry 
his  body  hence,  —  kings  must  have  slaves ;  kings  climb  to  eminence  over 
men's  graves:  so  this  man's  eye  is  dim;  throw  the  earth  over  him.  What 
was  the  white  you  touched,  there,  at  his  side?  Paper  his  hand  had  clutched 


188  VOCAL    EXPRESSION. 

tight  ere  he  died ;  —  message  or  wish,  may  be ;  —  smooth  the  folds  out  and 
see.  Hardly  the  worst  of  us  here  could  have  smiled !  —  only  the  tremulous 
words  of  a  child;  —  prattle,  that  has  for  stops  just  a  few  ruddy  drops. 
Look.  She  is  sad  to  miss,  morning  and  night,  his  —  her  dead  father's  — 
kiss;  tries  to  be  bright,  good  to  mamma,  and  sweet.  That  is  all.  "Mar- 
guerite." Ah,  if  beside  the  dead  slumbered  the  pain!  Ah,  if  the  hearts 
that  bled  slept  with  the  slain!  If  the  grief  died;  —  but  no;  —  death  will 
not  have  it  so.  Henry  Austin  Dobson. 

Problem  L.     Intensify  and  lift  the  sorrow  of  a  weakness  into 
the  realm  of  the  ideal  and  the  noble. 


220  Dear  master,  I  can  go  no  farther:  oh,  I  die  for  food!  Here  lie 
I  down,  and  measure  out  my  grave.     Farewell,  kind  master ! 

Shakespeare. 

221  "It's  time  for  me  to  go  to  that  there  berryin' -ground,  sir,"  he 
returns,  with  a  wild  look. 

"  Lie  down,  and  tell  me.  What  burying-ground,  Joe?" 
"Where  they  laid  him  as  wos  wery  good  to  me;  wery  good  to  me,  in- 
deed, he  wos.  It's  time  fur  me  to  go  down  to  that  there  berryin' -ground, 
sir,  and  ask  to  be  put  along  with  him.  I  wants  to  go  there  and  be  berried. 
He  used  fur  to  say  to  me,  '  I  am  as  poor  as  you,  to-day,  Jo,'  he  sez.  I 
wants  to  tell  him  that  I  am  as  poor  as  him,  now,  and  have  come  there  to 
be  laid  along  with  him." 

XXVII.    STRAIGHTNESS  OF  INFLECTION. 

rpHE  straightness  or  directness  of  an  inflection  is  in  proportion 
-*-  to  the  dignity,  genuineness,  or  sincerity  of  the  speaker.  Ir* 
colloquial  or  trivial  speech  there  is  a  tendency  to  circumflexef, 
but  when  the  speech  is  noble,  direct,  intense,  or  earnest,  the  in- 
flections are  straight. 

In  the  expression  of  abnormal  emotions  also,  such  as  anger, 
contempt,  sarcasm,  or  playful  mischief,  where  there  is  a  double 
antithesis  in  the  mind,  or  a  double  meaning,  we  find  that  there 
is  a  tendency  to  circumiiex  inflections.  But  in  manifesting  deep 
conviction,  simple  and  genuine  thought,  deep  and  sincere  feeling, 
wherever  "  the  eye  is  single,"  the  inflections  of  the  voice  tend  to 
be  straight  and  direct. 


STRAIGHTNESS    OF    INFLECTION.  18S 

The  principle  underlying  straightness  of  inflection,  therefore, 
is  that  when  there  is  a  crook  in  the  mind,  there  is  a  crook  in 
the  voice.  When  the  mind  is  direct  and  single,  the  inflection 
is  direct  and  single;  the  straightness  of  inflection  is  a  direct 
manifestation  of  the  degree  of  sincerity  and  singleness  of  aim  or 
attention,  and  of  the  degree  of  nobility  in  the  relation  of  the 
speaker  to  the  truth  and  to  his  audience. 

Circumflex  inflections  should  be  rarely  used.  Except  in  char- 
acterization and  abnormal  emotions,  they  should  be  avoided. 
Their  too  frequent  use  is  a  very  common  and  a  very  serious 
fault.  Students  should  struggle  to  keep  inflections  as  straight 
as  possible.  Even  the  simplest  and  most  colloquial  conversa- 
tion may  be  made  more  simple  and  unaffected,  more  noble  and 
dignified  by  using  straight  inflections :  notice  the  difference  in 
the  inflections  of  the  cobbler  in  the  extract  from  Julius  Caesar 
when  he  is  punning  and  quibbling,  and  in  his  last  speech  when 
he  frankly  states,  "  We  come  to  see  Caesar."  The  use  of  cir- 
cumflex inflections  to  appear  tender  and  kindly  is  one  of  the 
worst  affectations.  Those  who  teach  small  children  and  in- 
feriors must  make  efforts  to  be  manly  and  womanly,  and  to  feel 
that  all  who  are  taught,  however  humble,  are  objects  worthy 
of  reverent  interest.  The  fault  of  using  circumflex  inflections 
must  be  overcome  by  nobleness,  frankness,  and  simplicity. 

Problem  LI.  Contrast  a  simple  attitude  of  mind  with  a  complex 
one,  or  a  direct  aim  with  an  indirect  one. 

222    Queen.     Hamlet,  you  have  your  father  much  offended. 
Hamlet.  Madame,  you  have  my  father  much  offended. 


223  Sir  Peter.  Very  well,  ma'am,  very  well!  So  a  husband  is  to 
have  no  influence,  —  no  authority ! 

Lady  Teazle.  Authority?  No,  to  be  sure !  If  you  wanted  authority 
over  me,  you  should  have  adopted  me,  and  not  married  me;  I  am  sure  you 
were  old  enough.  Sheridan. 

Problem  LII.  Contrast  noble  with  ignoble  emotion,  a  normal 
or  ideal  character  with  a  low  or  abnormal  one. 


190  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

224    They  are  slaves  who  fear  to  speak 

For  the  fallen  and  the  weak : 

They  are  slaves  who  will  not  choose 

Hatred,  scoffing,  and  abuse, 

Rather  than  in  silence  shrink 

From  the  truth  they  needs  must  think; 

They  are  slaves  who  dare  not  be 

In  the  right  with  two  or  three. 
"Stanzas  on  Freedom."  James  Russell  Lowell. 

225    "  I  gbant  you  I  was  down,  and  out  of  breath;  and  so  was  he." 


226  We  were  gettin'  on  nicely  up  here  to  our  village, 

With  good  old  idees  o'  wut's  right  an'  wut  ain't; 
We  kind  o'  thought  Christ  went  agin  war  an'  pillage, 
An'  that  eppyletts  worn't  the  best  mark  of  a  saint. 
But  John  P. 
Robinson  he 
Sez  this  kind  o'  thing's  an  exploded  idee. 
"Bigelow  Papers."  Lotcell. 

227  Flavius.    Hence !  home,  you  idle  creatures,  get  you  home ! 
Is  this  a  holiday?    What !  know  you  not, 

Being  mechanical,  you  ought  not  walk 

Upon  a  laboring-day  without  the  sign 

Of  your  profession?    Speak,  what  trade  art  thou? 
First  Citizen.    Why,  sir,  a  carpenter. 
Marullus.     Where  is  thy  leather  apron  and  thy  rule? 

What  dost  thou  with  thy  best  apparel  on?  — 

You,  sir;  what  trade  are  you? 
Second  Citizen.     Truly,  sir,  in  respect  of  a  fine  workman,  I  am  but,  as 
you  would  say,  a  cobbler. 
Marullus.     But  what  trade  art  thou?    Answer  me  directly. 
Second  Citizen.     A  trade,  sir,  that  I  hope  I  may  use  with  a  safe  con- 
science; which  is  indeed,  sir,  a  mender  of  bad  soles. 
Marullus.     What  trade,  thou  knave?  thou  naughty  knave,  what  trade? 
Second  Citizen.    Nay,  I  beseech  you,  sir,  be  not  out  with  me:  yet,  if 
you  be  out,  sir,  I  can  mend  you. 
Marullus.    What  meanest  thou  by  that?    Mend  me,  thou  saucy  fellow! 
Second  Citizen.     Why,  sir,  cobble  you. 
Flavius.    Thou  art  a  cobbler,  art  thou? 


STRAIGHTNESS    OF   INFLECTION.  191 

Second  Citizen.  Truly,  sir,  all  that  I  live  by  is  with  the  awl:  I  meddle 
with  no  tradesman's  matters,  nor  women's  matters,  but  with  awl.  I  am 
indeed,  sir,  a  surgeon  to  old  shoes ;  when  they  are  in  great  danger,  I  re- 
cover them.  As  proper  men  as  ever  trod  upon  neat's-leather  have  gone 
upon  my  handiwork. 

Flavius.     But  wherefore  art  not  in  thy  shop  to-day? 
Why  dost  thou  lead  these  men  about  the  streets? 

Second  Citizen.    Truly,  sir,  to  wear  out  their  shoes,  to  get  myself  into 
more  work.    But,  indeed,  sir,  we  make  holiday,  to  see  Caesar,  and  to  re- 
joice in  his  triumph. 
Marullus.    Wherefore  rejoice?    What  conquest  brings  he  home? 

What  tributaries  follow  him  to  Rome, 

To  grace  in  captive  bonds  his  chariot-wheels? 

You  blocks,  you  stones,  you  worse  than  senseless  things! 

O,  you  hard  hearts,  you  cruel  men  of  Rome, 

Knew  you  not  Pompey?    Many  a  time  and  oft 

Have  you  climb' d  up  to  walls  and  battlements, 

To  towers  and  windows,  yea,  to  chimney-tops, 

Tour  infants  in  your  arms,  and  there  have  sat 

The  livelong  day,  with  patient  expectation, 

To  see  great  Pompey  pass  the  streets  of  Rome. 

And  when  you  saw  his  chariot  but  appear, 

Have  you  not  made  an  universal  shout, 

That  Tiber  trembled  underneath  her  banks, 

To  hear  the  replication  of  your  sounds 

Made  in  her  concave  shores? 

And  do  you  now  put  on  your  best  attire? 

And  do  you  now  cull  out  a  holiday? 

And  do  you  now  strew  flowers  in  his  way 

That  comes  in  triumph  over  Pompey' s  blood? 

Be  gone ! 

Run  to  your  houses,  fall  upon  your  knees, 

Pray  to  the  gods  to  intermit  the  plague 

That  needs  must  light  on  this  ingratitude. 
From  "  Julius  Csesar." 

Problem  LIII.    Contrast  simple  and  noble  conversation  with  af- 
fected and  superficial  colloquial  speech. 


228    Hamlet.    Do  you  see  yonder  cloud,  that's  almost  in  shape  of  a 
camel? 


192  VOCAL   EXPEESSION. 

Polonius.  By  the  mass,  and  'tis  like  a  camel,  indeed. 

Hamlet.    Methinks,  it  is  like  a  weasel. 

Polonius.  It  is  backed  like  a  weasel. 

Hamlet.     Or  like  a  whale? 

Polonius.  Very  like  a  whale. 

Hamlet.    Then  I  will  come  to  my  mother  by  and  by.     They  fool, 
me  to  the  top  of  my  bent.  —  I  will  come  by  and  bys 

Polonius.  I  will  say  so.  [Exit  Polonius. 

Hamlet.    By  and  by  is  easily  said. 

'Tis  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night, 

When  churchyards  yawn,  and  hell  itself  breathes  out 

Contagion  to  this  world:  now  could  I  drink  hot  blood, 

And  do  such  business  as  the  bitter  day 

Would  quake  to  look  on.    Soft :  now  to  my  mother. 

O,  heart,  lose  not  thy  nature;  let  not  ever 

The  soul  of  Nero  enter  this  firm  bosom. 


229    Falstaff.     God  save  thy  grace,  King  Hal!  my  royal  Hal! 

Pistol.     The  heavens  thee  guard  and  keep,  most  royal  imp  of  fame! 

Falstaff.     God  save  thee,  my  sweet  boy ! 

King.     My  Lord  Chief  Justice,  speak  to  that  vain  man. 

Chief  Justice.   Have  you  your  wits?  Know  you  what  'tis  you  speak? 

Falstaff.    My  king!  my  Jove!  I  speak  to  thee,  my  heart! 

King.     I  know  thee  not,  old  man.     Fall  to  thy  prayers. 

How  ill  white  hairs  become  a  fool  and  jester! 

I  have  long  dream' d  of  such  a  kind  of  man, 

So  surfeit-swell' d,  so  old,  and  so  profane; 

But,  being  awake,  I  do  despise  my  dream. 

Make  less  thy  body,  hence,  and  more  thy  grace; 

Leave  gormandising :  know,  the  grave  doth  gape 

For  thee  tbrice  wider  than  for  other  men. 

Keply  not  to  me  with  a  fool-born  jest ; 

Presume  not  that  I  am  the  thing  I  was  : 

For  Heaven  doth  know,  so  shall  the  world  perceive, 

That  I  have  turn'd  away  my  former  self; 

So  will  I  those  that  kept  me  company. 

When  thou  dost  hear  I  am  as  I  have  been, 

Approach  me;  and  thou  shalt  be  as  thou  wast, 

The  tutor  and  the  feeder  of  my  riots: 

Till  then,  I  banish  thee,  on  pain  of  death,  — 

As  I  have  done  the  rest  of  my  misleaders,  — 


FBEEDOM    OF    INFLECTION. 

Not  to  come  near  our  person  by  ten  mile. 
For  competence  of  life,  I  will  allow  you, 
That  lack  of  means  enforce  you  not  to  evil ; 
And,  as  we  hear  you  do  reform  yourselves, 
We  will,  — according  to  your  strength  and  qualities,  — 
Give  you  advancement. 
From  "  Henry  IV.,"  Part  II. 

XXVIII.     FREEDOM  OF  INFLECTION. 


193 


230    The  sun,  —  his  rise  and  set  we  know; 

The  sea,  — we  mark  its  ebb  and  flow; 

The  moon,  —  her  wax  and  wane ; 

The  stars,  —  man  knows  their  courses  well ; 

The  comet's  vagrant  paths  can  tell;  — 

But  you  his  search  disdain. 
"To  the  Winds."  Barton. 

IN  this  extract  the  word  '  sun  '  may  have  a  rising  or  a  falling 
inflection.  That  is  to  say,  it  may  be  presented  as  an 
object  of  attention,  and  after  a  pause  the  explanatory  clause 
added  as  the  result  of  thought ;  and  so  of  '  sea,'  '  moon,'  and 
1  stars.'  Or,  on  the  other  hand,  we  may  have  a  rising  inflection 
upon  these  words,  presenting  the  idea  as  a  question,  while  the 
clauses  may  be  given  as  answers.  Again,  some  of  these  words 
may  have  a  rising  and  others  a  falling  inflection.  These  differ- 
ences depend  upon  the  personality  of  the  speaker,  upon  the 
current  of  thought  or  association  of  ideas  at  the  time,  upon  the 
occasion  or  upon  the  person  addressed.  No  rules  can  be  laid 
down  by  authority  whereby  the  passage  must  be  read  in  any 
one  special  way. 

It  is  helpful  to  realize  the  special  function  of  these  four  most 
important  modulations  of  inflection,  —  length,  rapidity,  direction, 
and  straightness.  But  inflection  is  a  free,  spontaneous  language. 
No  two  speakers  ever  inflect  in  exactly  the  same  way.  Such 
similarity  as  is  often  found  is  the  result  of  mechanical  teaching. 
Ever  since  inflections  were  discovered,  in  1775,  by  Sir  Joshua 
Steele,  the  endeavor  to  apply  grammatical  and  mechanical  rules 
13 


194  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

to  them  has  caused  one  of  the  greatest  evils  in  elocution,  and 
has  awakened  great  prejudices  in  artistic  and  observant  minds. 
Inflectional  modulations  continually  and  infinitely  vary  in  con- 
versation; they  vary  with  every  sentence,  every  clause,  and 
every  word ;  they  differ  with  every  personality  and  with  every 
mood ;  in  fact,  flexibility  of  inflection  is  one  of  the  most  funda- 
mental characteristics  of  naturalness.  Inflections  directly  mani- 
fest the  simplest  and  most  spontaneous  actions  of  the  human 
soul.     They  must,  therefore,  always  be  free. 

Accordingly,  inflections  cannot  be  taught  by  mechanical  rules; 
nor  can  they  be  taught  by  imitation.  Whenever  inflections  have 
been  taught  by  imitation,  there  has  been  a  tendency  to  warp 
one  personality  to  the  peculiarities  of  another.  Whenever  they 
have  been  taught  by  rule,  there  has  been  a  tendency  to  make 
them  all  alike.  All  true  spontaneous  variation  of  the  direction, 
the  length,  and  gradation  of  inflection  has  been  eliminated. 

The  variation  of  inflection  according  to  personality  was  well 
illustrated  in  Wendell  Phillips  and  Emerson.  Phillips,  the  orator 
who  had  the  greatest  power  of  dominating  a  popular  audience, 
made  many  falling  inflections,  while  Emerson,  on  the  contrary, 
made  a  great  many  rising  inflections.  Things  were  given  by  him 
more  in  the  attitude  of  wonder,  more  in  the  attitude  of  ques- 
tioning. The  one  presented  things  with  the  attitude  of  domi- 
nation, of  positive  certainty ;  Emerson,  on  the  other  hand,  ap- 
pealed to  the  intuition  of  men ;  he  was  ever  in  the  attitude  of 
discovery.  He  did  not  dominate  attention  and  conviction,  he 
endeavored  to  awaken  spiritual  insight  and  intuitive  feeling. 

The  elder  Russell  said  that  a  good,  firm  falling  inflection  was 
a  speaker's  best  capital.  It  is  this  which  is  the  means  of  show- 
ing the  centre  of  the  speaker's  attention  and  winning  the 
attention  of  others.  He  counted  sixty  successive  falling  inflec- 
tions in  a  speech  by  Daniel  Webster  in  Faneuil  Hall. 

The  development  of  inflection  is  very  important.  A  good 
inflection  is  dependent  primarily  upon  proper  action  of  the  mind, 


FREEDOM   OF   INFLECTION.  195 

and  also  upon  control  of  the  breath,  the  free  emission  of  the 
tone,  and  the  right  use  of  the  voice.  The  ear  also  needs  to  be 
trained  to  recognize  inflection.  Of  all  faults,  the  worst  is  mo- 
notony, and  this  often  results  from  a  poor  ear.  The  ear  is  a  kind 
of  vocal  conscience ;  an  animal  that  has  no  ear  is  dumb. 

There  must,  however,  be  a  direct  practice  of  all  attitudes  of 
the  mind,  a  careful  observation  of  conversation  in  all  its  forms, 
and  a  study  of  human  nature  in  all  its  aspects.  The  power  of 
one  mind  to  appreciate  the  attitude  of  another,  the  sympathetic 
instinct  by  which  we  can  appreciate  another's  point  of  view 
must  be  developed.  All  forms  of  literature  need  to  be  practised. 
The  student  must  develop  his  dramatic  instinct,  and  must  not 
disdain  to  act  dialogues.  He  must  read  and  recite  and  discuss 
those  things  in  which  he  is  especially  interested.  Compelling 
students  to  speak  extracts  from  great  orations  to  try  to  expand 
themselves  into  imaginary  Websters,  has  tended  to  pervert  the 
natural  inflections  of  the  voice.  Declamation  is  an  invaluable 
exercise,  and  also  a  very  dangerous  one.  It  must  be  devoted, 
at  first  at  least,  to  simple  passages  such  as  will  develop  com- 
mand of  naturalness. 

True  inflection  is  only  possible  where  there  is  sincerity  and 
genuineness,  simplicity  and  earnestness.  Revealing  as  it  does, 
the  man's  attitude  toward  truth  and  toward  his  fellow  men,  it 
must  be  developed  by  developing  its  cause.  Whatever  tends  to 
enable  men  to  show  their  convictions  simply  and  directly,  or  to 
manifest  their  simple  earnestness  and  desire  to  awaken  an 
interest  and  to  win  the  attention  of  their  fellow  men,  will  tend 
to  develop  inflection.  Whatever  tends  to  free  the  mind  from 
artificial  shackles,  to  lead  it  to  trust  its  own  instincts ;  whatever 
tends  to  make  a  man  simple  and  natural,  or  to  cause  him  to  be 
himself ;  whatever  brings  him  into  sympathetic  relationship  with 
his  fellow  man,  or  causes  him  to  give  specific  attention  to  an- 
other mind  or  to  adapt  thought  and  conviction  to  another ;  or 
whatever  brings  the   mind  into   direct  communion   with   the 


196  VOCAL    EXPRESSION. 

deepest  convictions  of  other  minds,  will  tend  to  develop  the 
right  use  of  vocal  modulations  and  inflection. 

Problem  LIV.  For  the  development  of  inflectional  agility,  prac- 
tice a  great  variety  of  emotions,  with  many  degrees  of  earnestness, 
intensity,  and  emphasis. 

231  But  who  the  melodies  of  morn  can  tell?  The  wild  brook  babbling 
down  the  mountain  side;  the  lowing  herd;  the  sheepfold's  simple  bell; 
tlhe  pipe  of  early  shepherd  dim  descried  in  the  lone  valley;  echoing  far 
a  ad  wide  the  clamorous  horn  along  the  cliffs  above ;  the  hollow  murmur 
oif  the  ocean  tide;  the  hum  of  bees,  the  linnet's  lay  of  love,  and  the  full 
choir  that  wakes  the  universal  grove.  The  cottage  curs  at  early  pilgrim 
biirk;  crowned  with  her  pail  the  tripping  milkmaid  sings;  the  whistling 
pi  pughman  stalks  afield ;  and,  hark !  down  the  rough  slope  the  ponderous 
wngon  rings,  through  rustling  corn  the  hare  astonished  springs ;  slow  tolls 
th  e  village  clock  the  drowsy  hour ;  the  partridge  bursts  away  on  whirring 
wings;  deep  mourns  the  turtle  in  sequestered  bower,  and  shrill  lark  carols 
ckiar  from  her  aerial  tower.  James  Beattie. 

232     Came  the  relief,  "  What,  sentry,  ho! 

How  passed  the  night  through  thy  long  waking?  " 
"Cold,  cheerless,  dark,  —  as  may  befit 

The  hour  before  the  dawn  is  breaking." 
"  No  sight?  no  sound?  "     "  No ;  nothing  save 

The  plover  from  the  marshes  calling. 
And  in  yon  western  sky,  about 

An  hour  ago,  a  star  was  falling," 
"  A  star?    There's  nothing  strange  in  that." 

"No,  nothing;  but,  above  the  thicket, 
Somehow  it  seemed  to  me  that  God 

Somewhere  had  just  relieved  a  picket."  Bret  Harte. 


233.  VIRTUE. 
S  ateet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright,  the  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky, 
the  ( lew  shall  weep  thy  fall  to-night ;  for  thou  must  die.  Sweet  rose,  whose 
hue,  angry  and  brave,  bids  the  rash  gazer  wipe  his  eye,  thy  root  is  ever  in 
its  guave,  and  thou  must  die.  Sweet  spring,  full  of  sweet  days  and  roses, 
a  bO(t  where  sweets  compacted  lie,  my  music  shows  ye  have  your  closes, 
and  all  must  die.  Only  a  sweet  and  virtuous  soul,  like  seasoned  timber, 
nev«ir  gives ;  but  though  the  whole  world  turn  to  coal,  then  chiefly  lives. 

George  Herbert. 


FREEDOM    OF    INFLECTION.  197 

Problem  LV.  Practise  selections  with  simple  conversational 
flexibility,  also  practise  the  same  extract  in  a  variety  of  ways,  with 
changes  in  point  of  view,  situation,  and  purpose. 

234    Twist  ye,  twine  ye!  even  so,  mingle  shades  of  joy  and  woe, 

Hope  and  fear  and  peace  and  strife,  in  the  thread  of  human  life. 

From  "  Guy  Mannering"  

235.    A  MODEST  WIT. 

A  supercilious  nabob  of  the  east,  haughty,  being  great,  purse-proud, 
being  rich,  a  governor,  or  general,  at  the  least,  I  have  forgotten  which, 
had  in  his  family  a  humble  youth,  who  went  from  England  in  his  patron's 
suite,  an  unassuming  boy,  and  in  truth  a  lad  of  decent  parts  and  good 
repute.  This  youth  had  sense  and  spirit;  but  yet,  with  all  his  sense,  ex- 
cessive diffidence  obscured  his  merit. 

One  day  at  table,  flushed  with  pride  and  wine,  his  honor,  proudly  free, 
severely  merry,  conceived  it  would  be  vastly  fine  to  crack  a  joke  upon  his 
secretary.  "  Young  man,"  he  said,  "  by  what  art,  craft,  or  trade  did  your 
father  gain  a  livelihood?"  "He  was  a  saddler,  sir,"  Modestus  said, 
"  and  in  his  time  was  reckoned  good."  "  A  saddler,  eh!  and  taught  you 
Greek  instead  of  teaching  you  to  sew !  Pray  why  did  your  father  not 
make  a  saddler  of  you?" 

Each  parasite  then,  as  in  duty  bound,  the  joke  applauded,  and  the 
laugh  went  round.  At  length  Modestus,  bowing  low,  said  (craving  pardon 
if  too  free  he  made),  "  Sir,  by  your  leave,  I  fain  would  know  your  father's 
trade."  "My  father's  trade!  By  heaven,  that's  too  bad!  My  father's 
trade?  Why,  blockhead,  are  you  mad?  My  father,  sir,  did  never  stoop 
so  low,  he  was  a  gentleman,  I'd  have  you  know."  "  Excuse  the  liberty 
I  take,"  Modestus  said,  with  archness  on  his  brow,  "Pray,  why  did  not 
your  father  make  a  gentleman  of  you?" 

236        Hamlet.     O  that  this  too  too  solid  flesh  would  melt, 
Thaw,  and  resolve  itself  into  a  dew ! 
Or  that  the  Everlasting  had  not  fix'd 
His  canon 'gainst  self -slaughter!    O  God!    OGod! 
How  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable 
Seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world ! 
Fie  on't!  O  fie!  His  an  unweeded  garden 
That  grows  to  seed ;  things  rank  and  gross  in  nature 
Possess  it  merely.    That  it  should  come  to  this ! 
But  two  months  dead !  nay,  not  so  much,  not  two ; 
So  excellent  a  king;  that  was,  to  this, 


198  VOCAL    EXPRESSION. 

Hyperion  to  a  satyr ;  so  loving  to  my  mother, 

That  he  might  not  beteem  the  winds  of  heaven 

Visit  her  face  too  roughly.     Heaven  and  earth ! 

Must  I  remember?  why,  she  would  hang  on  him, 

As  if  increase  of  appetite  had  grown 

By  what  it  fed  on ;  and  yet.  within  a  month,  — 

Let  me  not  think  on't,  — Frailty,  thy  name  is  woman!  — 

A  little  month !  or  ere  those  shoes  were  old 

With  which  she  follow' d  my  poor  father's  body, 

Like  Niobe,  all  tears ;  —  why  she,  even  she,  — 

O  God !  a  beast,  that  wants  discourse  of  reason, 

Would  have  mourned  longer,  —  married  with  my  uncle, 

My  father's  brother,  but  no  more  like  my  father 

Than  I  to  Hercules ;  within  a  month, 

Ere  yet  the  salt  of  most  unrighteous  tears 

Had  left  the  flushing  in  her  galled  eyes, 

She  married.     O  most  wicked  speed,  to  post 

With  such  dexterity  to  incestuous  sheets ! 

It  is  not,  nor  it  cannot  come  to  good!  — 

But  break,  my  heart,  for  I  must  hold  my  tongue! 

Enter  Horatio,  Marcellus,  and  Bernardo. 

Horatio.     Hail  to  your  lordship ! 

Hamlet.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  well ;  — ■ 

Horatio,  or  I  do  forget  myself. 

Horatio.     The  same,  my  lord,  and  your  poor  servant  ever. 

Hamlet.     Sir,  my  good  friend;  I'll  change  that  name  with  you; 
And  what  make  you  from  Wittenberg,  Horatio? 
Marcellus? 

Marcellus.     My  good  lord,  — 

Hamlet.     I  am  very  glad  to  see  you.     (To  Bernardo.)  Good 
eveu,  sir. 
But  what,  in  faith,  make  you  from  Wittenberg? 

Horatio.     A  truant  disposition,  good  my  lord. 

Hamlet.     I  would  not  hear  your  enemy  say  so, 
Nor  shall  you  do  mine  ear  that  violence, 
To  make  it  truster  of  your  own  report 
Against  yourself;  I  know  you  are  no  truant. 
But  what  is  your  affair  in  Elsinore? 
We  '11  teach  you  to  drink  deep  ere  you  depart. 

Horatio.    My  lord,  I  came  to  see  your  father's  funeral. 


FKEEDOM    OF    INFLECTION.  199 

Hamlet.     I  pray  thee,  do  not  mock  me,  fellow-student; 
I  think  it  was  to  see  my  mother's  wedding. 

Horatio.     Indeed,  my  lord,  it  followed  hard  upon. 

Hamlet.    Thrift,  thrift,  Horatio !  the  funeral  baked-meats 
Did  coldly  furnish  forth  the  marriage  tables. 
Would  I  had  met  my  dearest  foe  in  heaven 
Or  ever  I  had  seen  that  day,  Horatio : 
My  father,  —  methinks  I  see  my  father. 

Horatio.  Where,  my  lord? 

Hamlet.     In  my  mind's  eye,  Horatio. 

Horatio.     I  saw  nim  —  once,  he  was  a  goodly  king. 

Hamlet.    He  was  a  man,  take  him  for  all  in  all, 
I  shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again. 

Horatio.     My  lord,  I  think  I  saw  him  yesternight. 

Hamlet     Saw!  who? 

Horatio.    My  lord,  the  king,  your  father. 

Hamlet.  The  king  my  father! 

Horatio.    Season  your  admiration  for  a  while 
With  an  attent  ear,  till  I  may  deliver, 
Upon  the  witness  of  these  gentlemen, 
This  marvel  to  you. 

Hamlet.  For  God's  love,  let  me  hear. 

Horatio.     Two  nights  together  had  these  gentlemen, 
Marcellus  and  Bernardo,  on  their  watch, 
In  the  dead  vast  and  middle  of  the  night, 
Been  thus  encounter' d.     A  figure  like  your  father, 
Armed  at  point  exactly,  cap-a-pe, 
Appears  before  them,  and  with  solemn  march 
Goes  slow  and  stately  by  them;  thrice  he  walk'd 
By  their  oppress' d  and  fear-surprised  eyes, 
Within  his  truncheon's  length;  whilst  they,  distill'd 
Almost  to  jelly  with  the  act  of  fear, 
Stand  dumb,  and  speak  not  to  him.     This  to  me 
In  dreadful  secrecy  impart  they  did; 
And  I  with  them  the  third  night  kept  the  watch; 
Where,  as  they  had  deliver' d,  both  iu  time, 
Form  of  the  thing,  each  word  made  true  and  good, 
The  apparition  comes :  I  knew  your  father ; 
These  hands  are  not  more  like. 

Hamlet.  But  where  was  this? 


200  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Marcellus.     My  lord,  upon  the  platform  where  we  watch' d. 

Hamlet.    Did  you  not  speak  to  it? 

Horatio.  My  lord,  I  did; 

But  answer  made  it  none;  yet  once  methought 
It  lifted  up  its  head,  and  did  address 
Itself  to  motion,  like  as  it  would  speak: 
But  even  then  the  morning  cock  crew  loud, 
And  at  the  sound  it  shrunk  in  haste  away, 
And  vanish' d  from  our  sight. 

Hamlet.  'Tis  very  strange. 

Horatio.    As  I  do  live,  my  honour' d  lord,  'tis  true; 
And  we  did  think  it  writ  down  in  our  duty 
To  let  you  know  of  it. 

Hamlet.     Indeed,  indeed,  sirs,  but  this  troubles  me. 
Hold  you  the  watch  to-night? 

Marcellus  and  Bernardo.     We  do,  my  lord. 

Hamlet.     Arm'd,  say  you? 

Marcellus  and  Bernardo.     Arm'd,  my  lord. 

Hamlet.  From  top  to  toe? 

Marcellus  and  Bernardo.     My  lord,  from  head  to  foot. 

Hamlet.     Then  saw  you  not  his  face? 

Horatio.     O,  yes,  my  lord ;  he  wore  his  beaver  up. 

Hamlet.    What,  look'd  he  frowningly? 

Horatio.  A  countenance  more 

In  sorrow  than  in  anger. 

Hamlet.  Pale,  or  red? 

Horatio.     Nay,  very  pale. 

Hamlet.  And  fix'd  his  eyes  upon  you? 

Horatio.     Most  constantly. 

Hamlet.  I  would  I  had  been  there. 

Horatio.     It  would  have  much  amazed  you. 

Hamlet.     Very  like,  very  like.     Stay' d  it  long? 

Horatio.   While  one  with  moderate  haste  might  tell  a  hundred. 

Marcellus  and  Bernardo.    Longer,  longer. 

Horatio.     Not  when  I  saw't. 

Hamlet.  His  beard  was  grizzled !  no? 

Horatio.     It  was  as  I  have  seen  it  in  his  life, 
A  sable  silver' d. 

Hamlet.  I  will  watch  to-night; 

Perchance  'twill  walk  again. 


INTERVALS    OF    PITCH.  201 

Horatio.  I  warrant  it  will. 

Hamlet.    If  it  assume  my  noble  father's  person, 
I'll  speak  to  it,  though  hell  itself  should  gape 
And  bid  me  hold  my  peace.     I  pray  you  all, 
If  you  have  hitherto  conceal' d  this  sight, 
Let  it  be  tenable  in  your  silence  still; 
And  whatsoever  else  shall  hap  to-night, 
Give  it  an  understanding,  but  no  tongue, 
I  will  requite  your  loves.    So  fare  you  well ; 
Upon  the  platform  'twixt  eleven  and  twelve 
I'll  visit  you. 

All.  Our  duty  to  your  honor.  [Exeunt. 

Hamlet.    Your  loves,  as  mine  to  you;  farewell. 
My  father's  spirit  in  arms !  all  is  not  well; 
I  doubt  some  foul  play ;  would  the  night  were  come ! 
Till  then  sit  still,  my  soul ;  foul  deeds  will  rise, 
Though  all  the  earth  o'erwhelm  them,  to  men's  eyes.  [Exit. 

Shakespeare. 

XXIX.     INTEEVALS  OF  PITCH. 

A  NOTHER  element  of  conversational  form  which  is  less  often 
-*--*-  recognized,  but  which  is  very  important,  is  changes  of 
pitch  between  words  or  phrases.  Intervals  are  the  most  variable 
and  free  element  of  delivery,  and  hence  their  function  or  meaning 
is  the  most  difficult  to  define. 

Probably  the  first  meaning  observed  is  that  which  has  already 
been  found ;  it  simply  shows  a  change  or  departure  of  the  mind 
from  conception  to  conception.  It  shows  also  animation  or 
exultation  of  any  kind ;  it  reveals,  too,  a  change  of  feeling,  or 
point  of  view,  or  degree  of  control. 

Note,  for  example,  in  the  following  extract  how  '  bower,'  '  sky,' 
'  winter,'  and  the  objects  of  attention  are  by  joyous  exultation 
put  in  different  parts  of  the  voice. 

237    Sweet  bird !  thy  bower  is  ever  green,  thy  sky  is  ever  clear ; 
Thou  hast  no  sorrow  in  thy  song,  no  winter  in  thy  year ! 
Oh!  could  I  fly,  I'd  fly  with  thee!  we'd  make,  with  joyful  wing, 
Our  annual  visit  o'er  the  globe,  attendants  on  the  spring. 
"  To  the  Cuckoo."  Logan. 


202  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

The  animation,  however,  is  not  always  gentle ;  if  we  compare 
this  with  the  next  extract,  we  find  that  there  is  here  a  greater 
change  of  pitch,  much  more  abrupt ;  and  the  fact  that  we  put 
4  hills,'  '  caves,'  and  '  rocks '  all  on  different  pitches  makes  the 
thought  far  more  emphatic.  It  shows  not  only  the  clearness 
and  vividness  of  the  thought,  but  it  shows  also  the  degree  of 
excitement,  the  intensity  and  earnestness  of  the  speaker. 

238    Away  to  the  hills,  to  the  caves,  to  the  rocks  — 
Ere  I  own  a  usurper,  I'll  couch  with  the  fox; 
And  tremble,  false  Whigs,  in  the  midst  of  your  glee, 
Tou  have  not  seen  the  last  of  my  bonnet  and  me. 

In  these  lines  we  find  also  that  changes  of  pitch  have  close 
correspondence  to  inflections.  In  the  change  between  '  caves ' 
and  '  rocks,'  for  example,  the  intervals  may  be  abrupt  or  slow, 
short  or  long,  —  in  fact,  they  may  vary  in  the  same  ways  as  the 
inflections  themselves. 

As  in  case  of  length  of  inflection,  the  extent  of  the  change  of 
pitch  and  the  length  of  time  between  the  two  pitches  is  a 
measure  of  self-control  and  dignity.  Read,  for  example,  an  ex- 
cited passage  in  two  ways,  with  and  without  great  changes  of 
pitch,  and  see  how  dignified  it  can  be  made  on  the  one  hand,  or 
how  degraded  on  the  other ;  or  note  the  wide  extent  of  pitch 
which  can  be  introduced  into  a  most  dignified  passage. 

When  there  is  a  repetition  of  a  word,  as  in  the  next  illustra- 
tion, if  it  is  used  merely  in  a  representative  way,  —  that  is,  if  it 
merely  stands  for  sound,  —  there  is  no  change  of  pitch ;  but  if 
it  stands  for  a  new  idea,  an  increase  of  intensity  in  feeling  or 
passion,  then  there  is  change  of  pitch. 

239    Clang,  clang!    The  massive  anvils  ring. 
Clang,  clang!    A  hundred  hammers  swing. 

Again,  where  the  mind  is  kept  sustained  upon  one  idea  and 
in  the  same  emotional  state,  as  in  the  next  illustration,  there  is 
definite  touch  and  attack,  but  there  is  little  change  of  pitch. 

240    Mebbily,  merrily,  mingle  they,  "  waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 


INTERVALS    OF   PITCH.  203 

But  where  there  is  a  change  in  the  degree  of  passion  or  an 
increase  in  intensity  or  excitement,  though  the  same  words  may 
be  repeated,  still  the  change  of  pitch  is  quite  marked,  as  in  the 
following  illustration :  —         

241  "To  arms!  to  arms!  to  arms!"  they  cry;  "grasp  the  shield  and 
draw  the  sword;  lead  us  to  Philippi's  lord;  let  us  conquer  him  or  die! " 

Again,  in  the  extract  from  "  Barbara  Frietchie,"  the  attention 
of  the  mind  is  on  the  flag ;  there  is  no  change  of  attention  with 
its  '  silver  stars '  or  '  crimson  bars,'  which  merely  contribute  to 
the  sustaining  and  vivifying  of  the  picture  in  the  mind ;  hence 
there  is  very  little  change  of  pitch.  But  when  we  come  to  c  the 
sun  at  noon  looked  down,'  there  is  a  great  change  of  thought, 
conceptions,  and  ideas,  and  we  have  more  change  of  pitch. 

242    Forty  flags  with  their  silver  stars, 
Forty  flags  with  their  crimson  bars, 
Flapped  in  the  morning  wind ;  the  sun 
Of  noon  looked  down,  and  saw  not  one. 

Thus  change  of  pitch  is  due  to  the  variation  or  the  movement  oi 
the  mind  from  one  situation  or  idea  to  another.  It  shows  the 
relation  of  an  idea  to  another  that  has  already  been  uttered.  We 
can  also  see  that  there  is  a  difference  in  meaning  between  in- 
tervals and  inflection.  Change  of  pitch  is  more  the  variation  of 
the  thought  or  situation,  while  the  increase  in  the  length  or  the 
abruptness  of  inflections  means  greater  control  of  the  will  over 
thought  and  feeling,  increased  earnestness,  or  desire  to  dominate 
the  attention  of  another  mind.  Change  of  pitch  is  thus  the  ex- 
pression of  the  rational  in  man.  Whenever  there  is  an  increase 
in  the  intensity  of  the  thinking  or  the  reasoning,  change  of  pitch 
is  present ;  whenever  there  is  a  mere  increase  of  force  without 
any  stimulation  of  the  thinking,  or  a  mere  repetition  of  a  sound, 
then  there  is  a  tendency  to  eliminate  changes  of  pitch. 

Hence,  change  of  pitch  is  one  of  the  most  dignified  of  all 
forms  of  emphasis.  If  we  take  any  passage,  no  matter  how  ex- 
cited, and  express  its  meaning  by  changes  of  pitch  rather  than  by 


204  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

loudness  or  even  length  or  abruptness  of  inflection,  we  can,  by 
using  this  means,  at  once  lift  the  passage  into  dignity  and  noble- 
ness. Besides  it  is  chiefly  by  change  of  pitch  that  range  of  voice 
is  secured.  Inflection  is  change  of  pitch  in  the  vowel,  but  inflec- 
tion alone  may  be  found  with  a  narrow  compass  of  voice.  Too 
great  length  of  inflection  would  be  deleterious  to  the  dignity  of 
a  thought,  especially  in  certain  delicate  lyrics.  But  there  is  no 
form  of  composition,  however  serious,  however  solemn,  however 
tender  and  delicate,  which  is  not  elevated,  ennobled,  and  intensi- 
fied by  changes  of  pitch  between  its  ideas.  Thus  change  of  pitch 
is  associated  with  all  noble  emphasis  and  with  all  noble  thinking. 
Inflection  without  changes  of  pitch  loses  its  meaning.  Inflec- 
tions and  change  of  pitch  should  always  go  together ;  by  their 
co-operation  they  give  rise  to  form.  The  wider  the  range,  the 
greater  the  dignity  and  free  play  of  thought  and  emotion. 

All  sorts  of  pieces  and  extracts,  the  most  delicate  and  subtle 
especially,  should  be  practised  with  the  widest  possible  range,  in 
order  to  develop  the  flexibility  of  the  voice,  and  to  co-ordinate 
change  of  pitch  with  change  of  ideas. 

Problem  L  VI.  Read  a  simple  passage  and  preserve  its  char- 
acter, yet  read  it  so  as  to  be  heard  by  a  large  number,  and  increase 
its  intensity  by  intervals  and  inflections,  but  without  increase  of 

loudness.  

243.    AONES. 
I  saw  her  in  childhood  —  a  bright  gentle  thing, 
Like  the  dawn  of  the  morn,  or  the  dews  of  the  spring: 
The  daisies  and  hare-bells  her  playmates  all  day; 
Herself  as  light-hearted  and  artless  as  they. 

I  saw  her  again  —  a  fair  girl  of  eighteen, 
Fresh  glittering  with  graces  of  mind  and  of  mien. 
Her  speech  was  all  music;  like  moonlight  she  shone; 
The  envy  of  many,  the  glory  of  one. 

Years,  years  fleeted  over  —  I  stood  at  her  foot: 
The  bud  had  grown  blossom,  the  blossom  was  fruit. 
A  dignified  mother,  her  infant  she  bore; 
And  look'd,  I  thought,  fairer  than  ever  before. 


INTERVALS    OF   PITCH. 


205 


I  saw  her  once  more  —  't  was  the  day  that  she  died ; 

Heaven's  light  was  around  her,  and  God  at  her  side; 

No  wants  to  distress  her,  no  fears  to  appal  — 

O  then,  I  felt,  then  she  was  fairest  of  all !  H.  F.  Lyte. 


Problem  LVII.  Contrast  words  used  imitatively  or  representa- 
tively with  words  in  the  same  line  used  as  the  expression  of  think- 
ing, and  note  the  effect  upon  the  voice. 

244  Of  old  hast  thou  laid  the  foundation  of  the  earth ;  and  the  heavens 
are  the  work  of  thy  hands.  They  shall  perish,  but  thou  shalt  endure: 
yea,  all  of  them  shall  wax  old  like  a  garment ;  as  a  vesture  shalt  thou 
change  them,  and  they  shall  be  changed :  but  thou  art  the  same,  and  thy 
years  shall  have  no  end. 

245  .  .  .  The  Kettle,  growing  mellow  and  musical,  began  to  have  irre- 
pressible gurglings  in  its  throat,  and  to  indulge  in  short  vocal  snorts, 
which  it  checked  in  the  bud,  as  if  it  hadn't  quite  made  up  its  mind  yet 
to  be  good  company.  Now  it  was,  that  after  two  or  three  such  vain 
attempts  to  stifle  its  convivial  sentiments,  it  threw  off  all  moroseness,  all 
reserve,  and  burst  into  a  stream  of  song  so  cosy  and  hilarious,  as  never 
maudlin  nightingale  yet  formed  the  least  idea  of. 

And  here,  if  you  like,  the  Cricket  did  chime  in  with  a  chirrup,  chirrup, 
chirrup,  of  such  magnitude,  by  way  of  chorus,  — with  a  voice  so  astound- 
ingly  disproportionate  to  its  size  as  compared  with  the  Kettle  ( size !  you 
couldn't  see  it! )  —that  if  it  had  then  and  there  burst  itself  like  an  over- 
charged gun,  if  it  had  fallen  a  victim  on  the  spot,  and  chirruped  its  little 
body  into  fifty  pieces,  it  would  have  seemed  a  natural  and  inevitable  con- 
sequence, for  which  it  had  expressly  labored. 

There  was  all  the  excitement  of  a  race  about  it.  Chirp,  chirp,  chirp! 
Cricket  a  mile  ahead.  Hum,  hum,  hum  — m  —  m!  Kettle  making  play 
in  the  distance,  like  a  great  top.  Chirp,  chirp,  chirp!  Cricket  round  the 
corner.  Hum,  hum,  hum  —  m — m!  Kettle  sticking  to  him  in  his  own 
way  ;  no  idea  of  giving  in.  Chirp,  chirp,  chirp!  Cricket  fresher  than 
ever.  Hum,  hum,  hum  —  m  —  m!  Kettle  slow  and  steady.  Chirp, 
chirp,  chirp !  Cricket  going  in  to  finish  him.  Hum,  hum,  hum,  —  m  —  m ! 
Kettle  not  to  be  finished."  Until,  at  last,  they  got  so  jumbled  together 
in  the  hurry-skurry,  helter-skelter  of  the  match,  that  whether  the  Kettle 
chirped  and  the  Cricket  hummed,  or  the  Cricket  chirped  and  the  Kettle 
hummed,  or  they  both  chirped  and  both  hummed,  it  would  have  taken  a 
clearer  head  than  yours  or  mine  to  decide  with  anything  like  certainty. 


206  VOCAL   EXPBESSION. 

But  of  this  there  is  no  doubt,  that  the  Kettle  and  the  Cricket,  at  one 
and  the  same  moment,  and  by  some  power  of  amalgamation  best  known 
to  themselves,  sent  each  his  fireside  song  of  comfort  streaming  into  a  ray 
of  the  candle  that  shone  out  through  the  window,  and  a  long  way  down 
the  lane.  And  this  light,  bursting  ou  a  certain  person  who,  on  the 
instant,  approached  towards  it  through  the  gloom,  expressed  the  whole 
thing  to  him,  literally  in  a  twinkling,  and  cried,  "  Welcome  home,  old 
fellow  I    Welcome  home,  my  boy!"  Dickens. 


XXX.    SUBORDINATION. 

A  NOTHER  most  important  element  of  naturalness,  which  is 
-*--*-  a  combination  of  both  inflection  and  change  of  pitch,  is 
subordination.  Neither  good  inflections  alone,  nor  changes  of 
pitch  apart  from  inflection,  can  produce  natural  subordination. 
This  must  result  from  a  certain  relationship  of  both  to  each 
other.  In  fact,  the  form  of  the  voice  and  the  emphasis  will  be 
imperfect  without  the  co-operation  of  both. 

As  has  been  shown,  in  speaking  a  simple  sentence  such  as  "I 
saw  your  father  this  morning,"  the  voice  progresses  toward  the 
emphatic  word  'father'  by  means  of  rising  inflections  and  inter- 
vals ;  the  emphatic  word  has  a  falling  inflection  from  a  higher 
pitch,  and  the  unemphatic  words  following  this  have  also  falling 
inflections,  with  intervals  causing  each  to  be  successively  lower 
in  pitch.  (See  diagram  on  page  119.)  If,  on  the  contrary,  the 
emphatic  word  has  a  rising  inflection,  the  following  words  are 
also  rising,  and  successively  higher  in  pitch. 

Subordination  gives  the  greatest  beauty  to  speech.  It  is  also 
one  of  the  chief  elements  in  the  expression  of  thought,  and  the 
most  important  means  of  securing  a  greater  degree  of  emphasis 
and  dignity. 

Subordination  gives  the  effect  of  a  background.  It  shows 
discrimination  and  clear  thinking.  If  the  central  idea  is  brought 
out,  and  others  subordinated  to  it,  the  mind  is  led  to  conceive 
clearly  and  definitely  the  central  idea  with  its  proper  relations. 


SUBORDINATION. 


207 


Subordination  is  the  natural  and  effective  expression  of  a 
mental  painting  of  a  scene.  It  gives  the  background  or  the 
perspective  by  which  the  mind  is  enabled  to  bring  a  scene  into 
unity.  The  listening  mind  is  by  it  given  the  right  centre  or 
point  of  view,  and  thus  is  awakened  to  respond  creatively  to  the 
successive  scenes  and  situations. 

It  is  the  lack  of  power  to  give  subordination  which  often  leads 
to  vulgar  and  declamatory  methods  of  emphasis.  In  trying  to 
make  a  word  salient,  and  failing  to  get  that  beautiful  perspective 
or  modulation  of  the  form  or  melody  by  subordination,  there  is 
necessarily  an  increase  of  force  or  push  upon  the  emphatic  word, 
and  emphasis  by  form  is  destroyed.  Unless  the  change  of  pitch 
is  salient,  unless  it  is  varied,  unless  the  unemphatic  words  are 
put  into  the  background,  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  realize  the  real 
centre  of  the  mind's  attention  without  the  use  of  unnecessary 
force,  and  a  sacrifice  of  dignity.  Ability  to  subordinate  is  also 
essential  to  the  acquisition  of  range.  To  try  to  secure  range  by 
very  long  inflections  or  by  sudden  changes  of  pitch  makes  all 
results  labored,  constrained,  and  unnatural. 

A  lack  of  subordination  is  the  chief  cause  of  monotony.  The 
voice  gets  upon  one  pitch  and  stays  there ;  even  inflection  alone 
cannot  prevent  monotony.  We  change  from  the  fixed  pitch  not 
merely  by  the  saliency  of  the  emphatic  word,  but  by  subordi- 
nating the  words  which  are  not  emphatic. 

The  development  of  subordination  is  dependent  upon  securing 
definite  thinking,  upon  the  power  to  sustain  attention  upon  one 
conception  while  relating  others  to  this  central  idea ;  upon  the 
flexibility  of  voice,  and  an  ear  trained  to  recognize  this  element 
of  naturalness. 

Most  of  the  problems  which  have  been  already  stated  for  the 
development  of  range  and  inflection  may  be  used  as  a  means  of 
developing  subordination.  To  make  salient  certain  words,  and 
to  put  others  in  the  most  extreme  subordination,  must  be  the 
purpose  of  practice. 


208  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

Subordination  cannot  be  too  greatly  insisted  upon,  or  too  much 
exaggerated.  We  may  speak  too  loud  or  with  too  much  force, 
but  the  greater  the  subordination,  the  greater  the  emphasis  of 
the  central  idea,  and  the  greater  the  dignity,  clearness,  and 
beauty  of  speech. 

Problem  L  VIII.  Make  the  emphatic  word  of  a  clause  salient  by 
a  falling  inflection,  and  subordinate  the  unemphatic  words  by  giving 
them  the  same  inflection,  but  shorter  and  upon  a  much  lower  pitch. 
Keverse  the  form,  and  give  rising  inflections. 

246  Man  can  have  the  gift  of  life  but  once,  for  he  waited  a  whole 
eternity  to  be  born,  and  now  has  a  whole  eternity  waiting  to  see  what  he 
will  do  when  born.  Carlyle. 

Problem  LIX.  Make  one  word  very  salient  by  inflection,  then, 
after  a  pause,  give  many  words  upon  a  lower  pitch  and  with  shorter 
inflections,  for  the  purpose  of  training  the  ear  and  securing  the 
power  to  subordinate  the  voice. 

247    Thou  art  like  the  bird  that  alights  and  sings, 
Though  the  frail  spray  bends  —  for  he  knows  he  has  wings. 

Victor  Hugo. 

248  We  should  conceive  of  poetry  worthily,  and  more  highly  than  it 
has  been  the  custom  to  conceive  of  it.  We  should  conceive  of  it  as  capable 
of  higher  uses,  and  called  to  higher  destinies,  than  those  which,  in  general, 
men  have  assigned  to  it  hitherto.  More  and  more  mankind  will  discover 
that  we  have  to  turn  to  poetry  to  interpret  life  for  us,  to  console  us,  to 
sustain  us.  Without  poetry,  our  science  will  appear  incomplete;  and 
most  of  what  now  passes  with  us  for  religion  and  philosophy  will  be  re- 
placed by  poetry.  Matthew  Arnold. 

249.    ABOU  BEN  ADHEM. 
Abou  Ben  Adhem  —  may  his  tribe  increase  — 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  sweet  dream  of  peace, 
And  saw,  within  the  moonlight  in  his  room, 
Making  it  rich,  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 
An  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold. 
Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold, 
And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he  said, 
"  What  writest  thou?  "     The  vision  raised  its  head, 


SILENCE    AS    A    MEANS    OF   EMPHASIS.  209 

And,  with  a  look  made  all  of  sweet  accord, 

Answered,  "  The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord." 

"  And  is  mine  one?  "  said  Abou.     "  Nay,  not  so," 

Replied  the  angel.    Abou  spoke  more  low, 

But  cheerily  still;  and  said,  "  I  pray  thee,  then, 

Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellow-men." 

The  angel  wrote  and  vanished.     The  next  night 

It  came  again,  with  a  great  wakening  light, 

And  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  blest; 

And  lo!  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


XXXL    SILENCE  AS  A  MEANS  OF  EMPHASIS. 

ANOTHER  mode  of  emphasis  is  pause.  This,  especially  when 
associated  with  inflection  and  change  of  pitch,  is  a  most 
powerful  means  of  expression.  Just  what  is  meant  by  the  em- 
phatic pause  may  be  difficult  to  explain.  Pauses  have  been  shown 
to  be  universal  characteristics  of  all  natural  speech;  but  the 
accentuation  of  a  pause,  the  prolongation  of  silence,  or  especially 
the  introduction  of  a  pause  in  the  midst  of  a  phrase  after  an 
emphatic  word  or  inflection,  and  associated  with  a  corresponding 
change  in  pitch,  becomes  a  means  of  emphasis.  Thus  pauses  are 
not  only  an  important  sign  of  natural  or  conversational  speech, 
but  are  often  the  most  effective  means  of  manifesting  the  im- 
portance of  a  thought. 

The  special  province  of  the  pause  in  emphasis  is  to  manifest 
the  weight  of  an  idea.  It  shows  that  the  mind  not  only  centers 
its  attention  upon  an  idea,  but  that  it  lingers  over  it  meditatively 
and  with  intense  interest.  Pause  is  an  essential  element  when- 
ever there  is  breadth  of  vision,  whenever  a  mind  sincerely  tries 
to  manifest  a  higher  feeling.  It  is  the  most  spiritual  mode  of 
emphasis.  "  Speech  is  silvern,  silence  is  golden."  A  pause  is 
man's  only  means  of  suggesting  the  infinite  and  the  eternal. 

Like  change  of  pitch,  pause  is  a  noble  and  dignified  form  of 
emphasis,  but  its  dignity  is  of  another  kind.     It  is  imaginative 
dignity,  dignity  of  character,  dignity  of  emotion,  dignity  and 
14 


210  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

weight  of  thought.  It  is  the  strongest  and  most  reposeful  appeal 
to  the  deepest  faculties  and  feelings  of  man. 

Pause  and  change  of  pitch  are  always  found  together ;  when- 
ever there  is  a  pause  without  change  of  pitch,  it  means  hesitation 
and  weakness.  It  is  change  of  pitch  united  to  the  pause  that 
furnishes  the  greatest  power  and  significance ;  in  fact,  the  noblest 
form  of  emphasis.  There  is  thus  an  intimate  connection  between 
change  of  pitch  and  pause ;  still  their  significance  can  be  more 
or  less  distinguished.  Change  of  pitch  primarily  shows  a  change 
in  the  attention  of  the  mind,  a  variation  in  the  progress  of  the 
thought ;  but  the  pause  shows  the  moral  intensity  or  the  depth 
of  realization  of  an  idea.  The  one  manifests  the  variation  of 
thinking ;  the  other  the  spiritual  weight  of  the  idea.  One  gives 
clearness,  definiteness,  and  relation ;  the  other  gives  weight  and 
importance  to  thought. 

Pause  is  associated  with  the  most  dignified  forms  of  reading. 
It  is  one  of  the  most  important  means  of  expression  in  reading 
the  Scriptures.  The  more  satisfactory  the  reading  of  the  Bible, 
the  more  frequently  will  pauses  be  found  present. 

Pause  has  great  significance  also,  because  in  all  emotional 
passages  there  is  a  struggle  for  breath,  a  struggle  for  control ; 
the  pause  suggests  this  struggle,  and  thus  gives  the  mind  an 
appreciation  of  the  cause  of  the  expression.  Struggle  with  the 
breath  is  the  first  effect  emotion  causes  in  the  man.  Without  a 
pause,  the  struggle  is  eliminated ;  the  breath  cannot  be  controlled 
nor  can  the  texture  of  the  voice  be  modulated  by  the  emotion. 
It  is  thus  associated  with  all  manifestation  of  deep  feeling. 

Problem  LX.  Make  long  pauses  after  the  emphatic  words  in 
some  passage  of  deep  thought,  sustaining  the  weight  of  the  idea  in 
the  mind,  and  then  add  the  unemphatic  words  with  such  subordi- 
nation in  pitch  as  to  justify  the  pause. 


250    Two  hands  upon  the  breast,  and  labour's  done; 

Two  pale  feet  crossed  in  rest,  the  race  is  won. 
[t2iou>  and  Afterwards.'"  Dinah  Muloch-Craik, 


SILENCE   AS   A   MEANS   OF   EMPHASIS.  211 

251    Thou  art,  O  God,  the  life  and  light  of  all  this  wondrous  world  we 

see ;  its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night,  are  but  reflections  caught  from 

thee.     Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shine,  and  all  things  fair  and  bright 

are  thine.     When  day,  with  farewell  beam,  delays  among  the  opening 

clouds  of  even,  and  we  can  almost  think  we  gaze  through  opening  vistas 

into  heaven,  those  hues  that  make  the  sun's  decline  so  soft,  so  radiant, 

Lord,  are  thine.     When  night,  with  wings  of  starry  gloom,  o'ershadows 

all  the  earth  and  skies,  like  some  dark,  beauteous  bird,  whose  plume  is 

sparkling  with  unnumbered  eyes,  that  sacred  gloom,  those  fires  divine, 

so  grand,  so  countless,  Lord,  are  thine.    When  youthful  spring  around 

us  breathes,  thy  spirit  warms  her  fragrant  sigh,  and  every  flower  that 

summer  wreathes  is  born  beneath  thy  kindling  eye:  where'er  we  turn, 

thy  glories  shine,  and  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  thine. 

Moore. 


252.    THE  LESSONS  OP  NATUEE. 

Of  this  fair  volume  which  we  World  do  name 

If  we  the  sheets  and  leaves  could  turn  with  care, 

Of  him  who  it  corrects,  and  did  it  frame, 

We  clear  might  read  the  art  and  wisdom  rare: 

Find  out  his  power  which  wildest  powers  doth  tame, 

His  providence  extending  everywhere, 

His  justice  which  proud  rebels  doth  not  spare, 

In  every  page,  no  period  of  the  same. 

But  silly  we,  like  foolish  children,  rest 

Well  pleased  with  colour' d  vellum,  leaves  of  gold, 

Fair  dangling  ribbands,  leaving  what  is  best, 

On  the  great  writer's  sense  ne'er  taking  hold; 

Or  if  by  chance  we  stay  our  minds  on  aught, 

It  is  some  picture  on  the  margin  wrought. 


Drummond. 


253.    DEDICATION  OF  GETTYSBUKG-  CEMETERY. 

Fotjkscore  and  seven  years  ago,  our  fathers  brought  forth  upon  this 
continent  a  new  nation,  conceived  in  liberty  and  dedicated  to  the  propo- 
sition that  all  men  are  created  equal.  Now  we  are  engaged  in  a  great 
civil  war,  testing  whether  that  nation  —  or  any  nation  so  conceived  and 
so  dedicated  —  can  long  endure.  I 

We  are  met  on  a  great  battle-field  of  that  war.  We  are  met  to  dedicate 
a  portion  of  it  as  the  final  resting-place  of  those  who  have  given  their 
lives  that  that  nation  might  live.  It  is  altogether  fitting  and  proper  that 
we  should  do  this. 


212  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

But,  in  a  larger  sense,  we  cannot  dedicate,  we  cannot  consecrate,  we 
cannot  hallow,  this  ground.  The  brave  men,  living  and  dead,  who  strug- 
gled here,  have  consecrated  it,  far  above  our  power  to  add  or  to  detract. 
The  world  will  very  little  note  nor  long  remember  what  we  say  here ;  but 
it  can  never  forget  what  they  did  here. 

It  is  for  us,  the  living,  rather,  to  be  dedicated  here,  to  the  unfinished 
work  they  have  thus  far  so  nobly  carried  on.  It  is  rather  for  us  to  be  here 
dedicated  to  the  great  task  remaining  before  us ;  that  from  these  honored 
dead  we  take  increased  devotion  to  that  cause  for  which  they  here  gave 
the  last  full  measure  of  devotion ;  that  we  here  highly  resolve  that  these 
dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain;  that  the  nation  shall,  under  God,  have 
a  new  birth  of  freedom,  and  that  government  of  the  people,  by  the  people, 
and  for  the  people,  shall  not  perish  from  the  earth.  Lincoln. 


Problem  LXI.     Show  intense  passion  or  the  deep  spiritual  ele- 
ment of  a  sublime  passage  by  using  pauses  to  indicate  the  centres 


of  attention  and  struggle  for  control. 


254  Now,  men  of  death,  work  forth  your  will,  for  I  can  suffer,  and 
be  still ;  and  come  he  slow,  or  come  he  fast,  it  is  but  Death  who  comes  at  last. 

Constance  in  "Marmion."  Scott. 

255  O  lord,  thou  hast  searched  me,  and  known  me.  Thou  knowest 
my  downsitting  and  mine  uprising,  thou  understandest  my  thought  afar 
off.  Thou  searchest  out  my  path  and  my  lying  down,  and  art  acquainted 
with  all  my  ways.  For  there  is  not  a  word  in  my  tongue,  but,  lo,  O  Lord, 
thou  knowest  it  altogether.  Thou  hast  beset  me  behind  and  before,  and 
laid  thine  hand  upon  me.  Such  knowledge  is  too  wonderful  for  me ;  it 
is  high,  I  cannot  attain  unto  it.  Whither  shall  I  go  from  thy  spirit?  Or 
whither  shall  I  flee  from  thy  presence?  If  I  ascend  up  into  heaven,  thou 
art  there :  if  I  make  my  bed  in  hell,  behold,  thou  art  there.  If  I  take 
the  wings  of  the  morning,  and  dwell  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  sea; 
even  there  shall  thy  hand  lead  me,  and  thy  right  hand  shall  hold  me.  If 
I  say,  Surely  the  darkness  shall  overwhelm  me,  and  the  light  about  me 
shall  be  night;  even  the  darkness  hideth  not  from  thee,  but  the  night 
shineth  as  the  day:  the  darkness  and  the  light  are  both  alike  to  thee. 

Psalm  CXXXIX. 

256    Not  from  a  vain  or  shallow  thought 

His  awful  Jove  young  Phidias  brought, 
The  hand  that  rounded  Peter's  dome, 
And  groined  the  aisles  of  Christian  Romf 


MOVEMENT.  213 


Wrought  in  a  sad  sincerity; 
Himself  from  God  he  could  not  free; 
He  builded  better  than  he  knew;— 
The  conscious  stone  to  beauty  grew.  .  . 
These  temples  grew  as  grows  the  grass; 
Art  might  obey,  but  not  surpass. 
The  passive  Master  lent  his  hand 
To  the  vast  soul  that  o'er  him  planned. 


Smerton. 


XXXII.     MOVEMENT. 

PAUSE  as  a  method  of  emphasis  is  important  because  it  is  a 
modulation  of  time.  Time  is  the  sphere  of  all  histrionic 
expression ;  so  it  is  the  medium  in  vocal  expresssion,  as  space 
is  the  medium  in  painting.  Painting  emphasizes  by  making  an 
object  salient  through  a  suggestion  of  space ;  but  an  art  in  time 
must  emphasize  by  showing  some  means  of  valuing  time.  But 
pause  is  not  the  only  means  of  measuring  time.  It  belongs  to 
individual  words  or  phrases ;  it  is  confined  more  or  less  to  specific 
ideas.  There  is  another  method  which  does  not  apply  so  much 
to  specific  ideas  as  to  clauses,  sentences,  and  even  paragraphs. 
This  is  what  is  called  movement. 

Man's  means  of  measuring  time  is  rhythm.  Movement  does 
not  mean  merely  going  slower  or  more  rapidly ;  it  is  a  suggestion 
of  the  rhythmic  pulsation  of  force.  Rhythm  is  proportion  in 
time,  as  symmetry  is  proportion  in  space. 

Two  serious  defects  of  vocal  expression  are  hurry  on  the  one 
hand,  and  tediousness  on  the  other.  Movement  is  the  revelation 
of  the  pulsation  of  force  in  such  a  way  as  to  avoid  either  of  these 
extremes.  True  movement  is  continually  varying.  Sameness 
or  monotony  of  movement  is  the  negation  of  movement  and  the 
worst  of  faults.  Movement  is  the  immediate  effect  of  the  pro- 
pulsion of  a  living,  present  force. 

Movement  or  change  in  the  rhythmic  pulsation  of  the  voice 
is  an  important  means  of  expression.     Man  moves  slowly  when 


214  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

he  carries  a  heavy  load,  and  rapidly  when  he  is  free  or  light  of 
heart.  So  man  moves  slowly  in  the  delivery  of  his  thought  in 
proportion  to  his  sense  of  its  importance,  its  dignity,  intensity, 
and  weight,  or  to  the  element  of  control.  He  moves  rapidly,  on 
the  contrary,  over  that  which  is  trivial  and  relatively  unimpor- 
tant, and  in  proportion  to  the  uncontrolled  excitement  that  may 
dominate  him. 

Thus  movement  can  contrast  one  thought  or  sentence  with 
another  thought  or  sentence.  It  can  show  one  to  be  weighty 
and  the  other  to  be  light ;  one  to  be  the  point  at  issue,  and  the 
other  to  be  illustrative  or  a  side  issue ;  one  to  be  important,  and 
the  other  trite  and  familiar.  It  can  show  one  part  in  the  realm 
of  the  commonplace,  and  the  other  in  the  realm  of  wonder.  By 
movement,  the  subjective  is  contrasted  with  the  objective,  the 
spiritual  with  the  physical,  the  known  with  the  unknown,  the 
insignificant  with  the  significant. 

257    And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste :  the  steed, 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car, 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 
And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war; 
And  the  deep  thunder,  peal  on  peal,  afar,  — 
And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum, 
Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star;  — 
While  thronged  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb, 
Or  whispering  with  white  lips  —  "  The  foe !  they  come !  they  come ! ' ' 


Movement  is  directly  expressive,  as  well  as  expressive  by  con- 
trast. Take  for  example,  the  first  line  of  the  above  illustration, 
"  There  was  mounting  in  hot  haste."  This  can  be  read  so  as  to 
suggest  an  individual  going  on  a  hunt ;  going  for  a  doctor ;  going 
to  give  warning ;  to  save  a  life ;  to  make  an  escape  ;  as  a  part  of 
a  mock  parade  or  play  :  but  it  can  also  be  read  so  as  to  suggest 
that  it  is  a  part  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  These  various  con- 
ceptions are  shown  by  the  difference  in  the  movement.  It  is 
chiefly  the  rhythmic  pulsation  which  gives  the  sense  of  the 
breadth  of  the  situation. 


MOVEMENT.  215 

Problem  ~LX.II.  Show  by  change  of  rhythm  change  in  situation, 
in  the  nature  and  importance  of  thought,  in  the  kind  of  excitement, 
depth  of  feeling,  or  in  degree  of  control  over  passion. 

258  What  is  time?  —  the  shadow  on  the  dial,  the  striking  of  the 
clock,  the  running  of  the  sand,  day  and  night,  summer  and  winter, 
months,  years,  centuries?  These  are  but  arbitrary  and  outward  signs,  — 
the  measure  of  time,  not  time  itself.  Time  is  the  life  of  the  soul.  If  not 
this,  —  then  tell  me,  what  is  time? 

259    "  By  the  God  that  made  thee,  Randolph, 

Tell  us  what  mischance  hath  come!" 

Then  he  lifts  his  riven  banner, 

And  the  asker's  voice  is  dumb. 
"Flodden  Field."  Aytoun. 

260    A  king  sat  on  the  rocky  brow  which  looks  o'er  sea-born  Salamis; 

and  ships  by  thousands  lay  below,  and  men  in  nations;  —  all  were  his! 

He  counted  them  at  break  of  day  —  and  when  the  sun  set,  where  were 

they?    And  where  are  they?    And  where  art  thou,  my  country?    On 

thy  voiceless  shore  the  heroic  lay  is  tuneless  now  —  the  heroic  bosom 

beats  no  more !  And  must  thy  lyre,  so  long  divine,  degenerate  into  hands 

like  mine? 
"Song  of  the  Greek."  Byron 

261    The  friar  crawled  up  the  mouldy  stair 

To  his  damp  cell,  that  he  might  look 
Once  more  on  his  beloved  Book. 

And  there  it  lay  upon  the  stand, 
Open !  —  he  had  not  left  it  so. 

He  grasped  it  with  a  cry ;  for,  lo 
He  saw  that  some  angelic  hand 

While  he  was  gone  had  finished  it ! 
"Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful  Book."      T.  B.  Aldrlch. 

262  Cursed  is  the  man  that  trusteth  in  man,  and  maketh  flesh  his 
arm,  and  whose  heart  departeth  from  the  Lord.  For  he  shall  be  like  the 
heath  in  the  desert,  and  shall  not  see  when  good  cometh ;  but  shall  inhabit 
the  parched  places  in  the  wilderness,  a  salt  land  and  not  inhabited. 
Blessed  is  the  man  that  trusteth  in  the  Lord,  and  whose  hope  the  Lord 
is.  For  he  shall  be  as  a  tree  planted  by  the  waters,  and  that  spreadeth 
out  his  roots  by  the  river,  and  shall  not  fear  when  heat  cometh,  but  his 
leaf  shall  be  green ;  and  shall  not  be  careful  in  the  year  of  drought,  neither 
shall  cease  from  yielding  fruit.  Jeremiah,  XVII.  5-8. 


216  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Problem  LXIII.  Contrast  something  familiar  and  in  the  ordi- 
nary line  of  thought  with  something  unusual,  — something  that  is 
a  matter  of  faith  or  wonder. 

263  Fob  now  we  see  in  a  mirror,  darkly;  but  then  face  to  face:  now  I 
know  in  part ;  but  then  shall  I  know  even  as  also  I  have  been  known. 

First  Corinthians,  XIII.  12. 

Problem  LXIV.  Bead  some  description  involving  a  conception 
of  some  physical  movement,  and  by  sympathetic  identification 
suggest  the  spirit  of  this  movement  by  the  voice. 


264  Now  the  world  slopes  away  to  the  afternoon  sun  —  steady  one  1 

steady  all !    The  down  grade  has  begun.     Let  the  engines  take  breath, 

they  have  nothing  to  do,  for  the  law  that  swings  worlds  will  whirl  the 

train  through.     Streams  of  fire  from  the  wheels,  like  flashes  from  the 

fountains;  and  the  dizzy  train  reels  as  it  swoops  down  the  mountains : 

and  fiercer  and  faster,  as  if  demons  drove  tandem,  engines  "  Death"  and 

"Disaster.".  .  From  dumb  winter  to  spring  in  one  wonderful  hour;  from 

Nevada's  white  wing  to  creation  in  flower!  December  at  morning  tossing 

wild  in  its  might  —  a  June  without  warning  and  blown  roses  at  night ! 
"Overland  Train."  Taylor. 

265  Listen  to  the  water-mill;  through  the  livelong  day,  how  the 
clicking  of  its  wheel  wears  the  hours  away !  Languidly  the  autumn  wind 
stirs  the  forest  leaves,  from  the  fields  the  reapers  sing,  binding  up  their 
sheaves;  and  a  proverb  haunts  my  mind,  as  a  spell  is  cast;  "  The  mill  can- 
not grind  with  the  water  that  is  past."  Autumn  winds  revive  no  more 
leaves  that  once  are  shed,  and  the  sickle  cannot  reap  corn  once  gathered; 
flows  the  ruffled  streamlet  on,  tranquil,  deep  and  still ;  never  gliding  back 
again  to  the  water-mill:  truly  speaks  that  proverb  old,  with  a  meaning 
vast,  —  "  The  mill  cannot  grind  with  the  water  that  is  past." 

"Lesson  of  the  Water-mill."  Doudney. 

266  Away,  away !  for  the  stars  are  forth,  and  on  the  pure  snows  of 
the  valley,  in  a  giddy  trance,  the  moonbeams  dance  —  come,  let  us  our 
comrades  rally ! 

"Skater's  Song."  Peabody. 

267.    CROSSING  THE  BAR. 
Sunset  and  evening  star,  and  one  clear  call  for  me! 
And  may  there  be  no  moaning  of  the  bar  when  I  put  out  to  sea, 
But  such  a  tide  as  moving  seems  asleep,  too  full  for  sound  and  foam, 
When  that  which  drew  from  out  the  boundless  deep  turns  again  home. 


MOVEMENT.  217 

Twilight  and  evening  bell,  and  after  that  the  dark! 

And  may  there  he  no  sadness  of  farewell,  when  I  embark; 

For  tho'  from  out  our  bourne  of  time  and  place  the  flood  may  bear  me  far, 

I  hope  to  see  my  Pilot  face  to  face  when  I  have  crost  the  bar. 

Tennyson. 

268.    0  CAPTAIN,  MY  CAPTAIN! 

O  Captain!  my  Captain!  our  fearful  trip  is  done; 

The  ship  has  weathered  every  rack,  the  prize  we  sought  is  won; 

The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the  people  all  exulting, 

While  follow  eyes  the  steady  keel,  the  vessel  grim  and  daring; 

But,  O  heart !  heart !  heart !  O  the  bleeding  drops  of  red, 

Where  on  the  deck  my  Captain  lies,  fallen,  cold  and  dead. 

O  Captain!  my  Captain!  rise  up  and  hear  the  bells; 
Rise  up  —  for  you  the  flag  is  flung  —  for  you  the  bugle  trills, 
For  you  bouquets  and  ribbon' d  wreaths  —  for  you  the  shores  a-crowdingj 
For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass,  their  eager  faces  turning; 
Here  Captain!  dear  father!  this  arm  beneath  your  head! 
It  is  some  dream  that  on  the  deck,  you've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 
My  Captain  does  not  answer,  his  lips  are  pale  and  still ; 
My  Captain  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has  no  pulse  nor  will; 
The  ship  is  anchor'd  safe  and  sound,  its  voyage  is  closed  and  done; 
From  fearful  trip  the  victor  ship  comes  in  with  object  won; 
Exult,  O  shores,  and  ring,  O  bells !  but  I  with  mournful  tread 
Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies,  fallen  cold  and  dead. 
"On  Lincoln."  Walt  Whitman. 

269    A  fool,  a  fool !— I  met  a  fool  i'  the  forest, 
A  motley  fool; — a  miserable  world!  — 
As  I  do  live  by  food.  I  met  a  fool, 
Who  laid  him  down  and  bask'd  him  in  the  sun, 
And  rail'd  on  lady  Fortune  in  good  terms. 
In  good  set  terms,  — and  yet  a  motley  fool. 
"Good  morrow,  fool!"  quoth  I:  "No,  sir,"  quoth  he. 
"  Call  me  not  fool,  till  Heaven  hath  sent  me  fortune." 
And  then  he  drew  a  dial  from  his  poke, 
And,  looking  on  it  with  lack-lustre  eye, 
Says,  very  wisely,  "  It  is  ten  o'clock. 
Thus  may  we  see,"  quoth  he,  "  how  the  world  wags, 
'Tis  but  an  hour  ago  since  it  was  nine, 
And  after  one  hour  more  'twill  be  eleven; 
And  so  from  hour  to  hour  we  ripe  and  ripe, 


218  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

And  then  from  hour  to  hour  we  rot  and  rot, 
And  thereby  hangs  a  tale."    When  I  did  hear 
The  motley  fool  thus  moral  on  the  time, 
My  lungs  began  to  crow  like  chanticleer, 
That  fools  should  be  so  deep-contemplative; 
And  I  did  laugh,  sans  intermission, 
An  hour  by  his  dial  —  O  noble  fool  1 
A  worthy  fool !    Motley's  the  only  wear. 


Shakespeare, 


XXXIII.    TEXTURE  AND  TONE-COLOR, 


270    Some  murmur  when  their  sky  is  clear  and  wholly  bright  to  view, 
If  one  small  speck  of  dark  appear  in  their  great  heaven  of  blue : 
And  some  with  thankful  love  are  filled,  if  but  one  streak  of  light, 
One  ray  of  God's  good  mercy  gild  the  darkness  of  their  night. 
In  palaces  are  hearts  that  ask,  in  discontent  and  pride, 
Why  life  is  such  a  dreary  task,  and  all  good  things  denied: 
And  hearts  in  poorest  huts  admire  how  Love  has  in  their  aid, 
Love  that  not  ever  seems  to  tire,  such  rich  provision  made. 

Trench. 


A  NY  change  or  modulation  of  the  voice  may  be  made  a  means 
-*■•*•  of  expression  by  being  made  salient  in  relation  to  thought 
or  feeling.  The  possible  changes  seem  infinite,  but  may  be 
reduced  to  a  few  elementals,  each  of  which  discharges  a  specific 
function  in  expression.  The  modulation  of  the  texture  and  color 
of  the  voice  reveal  the  tenderness  and  delicacy  of  feeling.  It 
emphasizes  changes  of  emotion  and  sympathy. 

Tone-color  is  the  emotional  modulation  of  resonance.  Res- 
onance is  the  result  of  sympathetic  vibrations  in  the  production 
of  tone ;  a  voice  is  resonant  in  proportion  to  the  richness  of  its 
over-tones.  On  the  one  hand  the  resonance  of  the  voice  is  the 
source  of  the  greatest  pleasure  to  the  hearer,  and  on  the  other 
hand  the  destruction  or  perversion  of  the  harmony  of  the  sympa- 
thetic vibrations  or  over-tones  causes  faults  of  voice,  and  is 
always  associated  with  the  most  disagreeable  of  all  qualities. 

The  resonance  of  the  voice  is  capable  of  almost  infinite  vari- 


TEXTURE   AND   TONE-COLOE.  219 

ation  and  modulation.  Among  the  many  causes  of  these  changes, 
the  chief  is  the  diffusion  of  emotional  energy  through  the  muscles 
of  the  body,  especially  those  controlling  the  breath.  Thus  emo- 
tion changes  the  texture  of  the  muscles,  and  necessarily  the 
resonance  of  the  voice.  As  every  part  of  a  violin  vibrates  sym- 
pathetically, the  beauty  of  the  tone  depending  upon  the  texture 
of  the  wood,  so  the  beauty  and  resonance  of  the  voice  are  caused 
by  the  modulation  texture  of  the  muscles  by  emotion. 

If  any  one  doubts  the  influence  of  the  expressive  actions  of 
the  body  over  the  voice,  let  him  try  an  illustration  suggested  by 
Dr.  Taylor  in  his  book,  "  Researches  into  the  Early  History  of 
Mankind."  Laugh  heartily,  then  keep  all  the  ordinary  vocal 
conditions  the  same  as  nearly  as  possible,  and  draw  down  the 
corners  of  the  mouth  into  the  attitude  of  displeasure,  and  then 
laugh  again ;  the  result  will  convince  any  one.  This  change  is 
more  extreme  and  harsh  than  the  ordinary  contrasts  and  natural 
changes  in  true  vocal  expression.  But  though  ordinary  changes 
are  more  subtle,  they  are  none  the  less  real.  Every  emotion 
causes  a  texture  of  the  muscles  peculiar  to  itself.  Love  softens 
the  muscles  and  so  the  voice ;  anger  hardens  the  muscles,  and  so 
makes  harsh  the  tone.  Thus  resonance  is  simply  the  material  of 
tone-color.  Tone-color  is  only  its  emotional  modulation ;  at  least 
that  is  the  sense  in  which  the  word  is  here  used. 

While  the  resonance  of  the  violin  is  fixed  and  constant,  the 
resonance  of  the  voice  is  continually  being  modulated  by  emo- 
tion. Hence,  tone-color,  or  the  modulation  of  this  resonance,  is 
one  of  the  most  important  means  of  vocal  expression.  It  is, 
however,  the  most  unconscious  and  the  least  voluntary  of  all 
modes  of  vocal  expression.  A  mechanical,  artificial,  or  even 
deliberative  use  of  tone-color  is  often  offensive,  as  when  a  clergy- 
man, in  rendering  the  Litany,  in  some  imaginary  transition  goes 
down  suddenly  into  sepulchral  tones,  and  tries  to  make  it  very 
impressive  and  solemn.  Thus  the  least  mechanical  of  modes  can 
be  made  the  most  artificial. 


220  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Tone-color  is  most  subtle  and  unconscious ;  it  cannot  be  regu- 
lated by  rule.  Hence  it  is  entirely  overlooked  in  mechanical 
and  artificial  systems  of  elocution,  such  as  that  of  Rush.  It  is  the 
crowning  glory,  however,  of  true  vocal  art.  It  is  that  in  vocal 
expression  which  reveals  culture  and  imagination,  nobleness  of 
vision,  and  delicacy  of  feeling.  It  is  the  least  intellectual  of  all 
modes  of  emphasis.  It  is  not  a  means  of  manifesting  the  idea 
which  is  the  centre  of  attention  and  the  logical  sequence  of 
thought.     It  reveals  rather  the  sympathy  and  point  of  view. 

As  a  mode  of  emphasis  it  is  emotional,  —  a  change  in  the  texture 
or  color  of  the  voice  shows  a  change  in  the  emotional  conditions 
or  situations.  It  manifests  the  man's  point  of  view,  the  relations 
of  the  truth  he  utters  to  his  ideals  and  his  character;  it  expresses 
his  sympathetic  response  to  thought. 

The  function  of  tone-color  is  most  important.  A  change  in 
texture  and  a  change  in  color  may  suggest  marvellous  changes 
in  situation,  and  even  the  character  of  the  subject  of  the  mind's 
contemplation.  Not  only  so,  but  it  is  always  used  in  connection 
with  the  other  modes  of  emphasis  and  displaces  none  that  are 
sufficiently  noble  and  dignified,  ideal  and  suggestive. 

Notice  how  Shakespeare  expresses  the  two  lines  of  passion 
swaying  Queen  Catherine.  Not  only  is  each  made  more  em- 
phatic by  contrast  with  the  other,  but  the  immediate  grasp  of 
each  situation  in  direct  contrast  enables  the  reader  to  express 
each  more  easily. 

271    Queen  Catherine.     Peat  you  keep  your  way ; 

When  you  are  called,  return.     Now  the  Lord  help  me; 
They  vex  me  past  my  patience !    Pray  you  pass  on. 


Problem  LXV.  Read  and  enter  into  definite  sympathy  with 
each  successive  situation,  and  allow  the  texture  of  the  voice  to 
change  so  as  to  emphasize  strongly  the  contrasts  the  author  wishes 
to  make.  

272    "  O  Father!  I  see  a  gleaming  light;  O  say,  what  may  it  be?  " 
But  the  father  answered  never  a  word,  a  frozen  corpse  was  he. 


TEXTUBE    AND    TONE-COLOE.  221 

273  A  little  spring  had  lost  its  way  amid  the  grass  and  fern ;  a  pass- 
ing stranger  scooped  a  well,  where  weary  men  might  turn;  he  walled  it 
in,  and  hung  with  care  a  ladle  at  the  brink:  he  thought  not  of  the  deed 
he  did,  but  judged  that  toil  might  drink.  He  passed  again  —  and  lo!  the 
well,  by  summers  never  dried,  had  cooled  ten  thousand  parching  tongues, 
and  saved  a  life  beside. 

274  Is  Sparta  dead?  Is  the  old  Grecian  spirit  frozen  in  your  veins, 
that  ye  do  crouch  and  cower  like  base-born  slaves  beneath  your  master's 
lash?  O  comrades!  warriors!  Thracians!  if  we  must  fight,  let  us  fight 
for  ourselves ;  if  we  must  slaughter,  let  us  slaughter  our  oppressors ;  if  we 
must  die,  let  us  die  under  the  open  sky,  by  the  bright  waters,  in  noble, 
honorable  battle."  "  Kellogg. 

275    The  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one  as  before  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee. 


276    They  grew  in  beauty  side  by  side,  they  filled  one  home  with  glee ; 
Their  graves  are  severed  far  and  wide,  by  mount,  and  stream,  and  sea. 
"  The  Graves  of  a  Household."  Mrs.  Remans. 

277  When  the  tide  comes  in,  at  once  the  shore  and  sea  begin  together 
to  be  glad.  What  the  tide  has  brought  no  man  has  asked,  no  man  has 
sought:  what  other  tides  have  had  the  deep  sand  hides  away;  the  last  bit 
of  the  wrecks  they  wrought  was  burned  up  yesterday. 

When  the  tide  goes  out,  the  shore  looks  dark  and  sad  with  doubt.  The 
landmarks  are  all  lost.  For  the  tide  to  turn,  men  patient  wait,  men  rest- 
less yeam.  Sweet  channels  they  have  crossed,  in  boats  that  rocked  with 
glee,  stretch  now  bare  stony  roads  that  burn  and  lead  away  from  sea. 

When  the  tide  comes  in  in  hearts,  at  once  the  hearts  begin  together  to 
be  glad.  What  the  tide  has  brought  they  do  not  care,  they  have  not 
sought,  all  joy  they  ever  had  the  new  joy  multiplies;  all  pain  by  which  it 
may  be  bought  seems  paltry  sacrifice. 

When  the  tide  goes  out,  the  hearts  are  wrung  with  fear  and  doubt:  all 
trace  of  joy  seems  lost.  Will  the  tide  return?  In  restless  questioning 
they  yearn  with  hands  unclasped,  uncrossed,  they  weep,  on  separate  ways. 
Ah!  darling,  shall  we  ever  learn  love's  tidal  hours  and  days? 

Helen  Hunt  Jackton. 


222  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Problem  LXVL  Show  by  the  texture  and  color  of  the  voice  the 
difference  between  the  objective  and  the  subjective,  the  literal  and 
the  figurative,  or  the  spiritual. 

278    Come  down,  ye  graybeard  mariners,  unto  the  wasting  shore! 

The  morning  winds  are  up,  — the  gods  bid  me  to  dream  no  more. 

Come,  tell  me  whither  I  must  sail,  what  peril  there  may  be, 

Before  I  take  my  life  in  hand  and  venture  out  to  sea  I 

"  We  may  not  tell  thee  where  to  sail,  nor  what  the  dangers  are; 

Each  sailor  soundeth  for  himself,  each  hath  a  separate  star: 

Each  sailor  soundeth  for  himself,  and  on  the  awful  sea 

What  we  have  learned  is  ours  alone ;  we  may  not  tell  it  thee." 

Come  back,  O  ghostly  mariners,  ye  who  have  gone  before! 
I  dread  the  dark  impetuous  tides ;  I  dread  the  farther  shore. 
Tell  me  the  secret  of  the  waves ;  say  what  my  fate  shall  be  — 
Quick!  for  the  mighty  winds  are  up,  and  will  not  wait  for  me. 
"Hail  and  farewell,  O  voyager!  thyself  must  read  the  waves; 
What  we  have  learned  of  sun  and  storm  lies  with  us  in  our  graves: 
What  we  have  learned  of  sun  and  storm  is  ours  alone  to  know. 
The  winds  are  blowing  out  to  sea,  take  up  thy  life  and  go." 

Ellen  M.  Hutchinson. 

279  The  day  is  dark  and  the  night  to  him  that  would  search  their 
heart,  no  lips  of  cloud  that  will  part,  nor  morning  song  in  the  light:  only, 
gazing  alone,  to  him  wild  shadows  are  shown,  deep  under  deep  unknown, 
and  height  above  unknown  height.  .  .  . 

The  sky  leans  dumb  on  the  sea  aweary  with  all  its  wings  —  and  oh! 
the  song  the  sea  sings  is  dark  everlastingly.  Our  past  is  clean  forgot,  our 
present  is  and  is  not,  our  future's  a  sealed  seed-plot,  and  what  betwixt 
them  are  we?  We  who  say  as  we  go,  "Strange  to  think  by  the  way, 
whatever  there  is  to  know,  that  we  shall  know  one  day."  Rossetti. 


280  The  ground  of  a  certain  rich  man  brought  forth  plentifully:  and 
he  thought  within  himself,  saying,  What  shall  I  do,  because  I  have  not 
where  to  bestow  my  fruits?  And  he  said,  This  will  I  do :  I  will  pull  down 
my  barns,  and  build  greater;  and  there  will  I  bestow  all  my  corn  and  my 
goods.  And  I  will  say  to  my  soul,  Soul,  thou  hast  much  goods  laid  up 
for  many  years;  take  thine  ease,  eat,  drink,  be  merry.  But  God  said 
unto  him,  Thou  fool,  this  night  is  thy  soul  required  of  thee;  and  the 
things  which  thou  hast  prepared,  whose  shall  they  be?  So  is  he  that 
layeth  up  treasure  for  himself,  and  is  not  rich  toward  God.     And  he  said 


FORCE    AND   LOUDNESS.  223 

unto  his  disciples,  Therefore  say  I  unto  you,  Be  not  anxious  for  your  life, 
what  ye  shall  eat;  nor  yet  for  your  body,  what  ye  shall  put  on.  For  the 
life  is  more  than  the  food,  and  the  body  than  the  raiment.  Consider  the 
ravens,  that  they  sow  not,  neither  reap;  which  have  no  store-chamber 
d or  barn;  and  God  feedeth  them:  of  how  much  more  value  are  ye  than 
the  birds !  And  which  of  you  by  being  anxious  can  add  a  cubit  unto  his 
stature?  If  then  ye  are  not  able  to  do  even  that  which  is  least,  why  are 
ye  anxious  concerning  the  rest?  Consider  the  lilies,  how  they  grow :  they 
toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin ;  yet  I  say  unto  you,  Even  Solomon  in  all 
his  glory  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these.  But  if  God  doth  so  clothe 
the  grass  in  the  field,  which  to-day  is,  and  to-morrow  is  cast  into  the 
oven,  how  much  more  shall  he  clothe  you,  O  ye  of  little  faith? 


XXXIV.    POECE  AND  LOUDNESS. 

EMPHASIS  has  been  defined  as  "  a  greater  stress  of  voice 
placed  upon  a  word  or  syllable."  This,  however,  except 
when  stress  is  used  in  the  sense  of  touch,  is  an  undignified  form 
of  emphasis.  To  emphasize  by  merely  increasing  the  stress  of 
voice  upon  a  word  is  the  way  a  dog  emphasizes  a  bark  or  a  growl. 
It  is  a  mode  of  emphasis  common  to  all  ranters  and  demagogues. 
The  use  of  loudness  or  a  thrust  of  force  is  a  method  employed 
by  undisciplined  and  uncultured  men. 

Hamlet's  speech  to  the  players,  the  noble  words  of  Henry 
Fifth  at  Harfleur,  or  the  most  dignified  sentences  of  a  prince 
or  king,  delivered  with  mere  stress  are  made  those  of  a  vulgar 
clown.  Loudness  is  a  purely  physical  element,  and  does  not 
manifest  thought.  It  is  not  even  the  chief  means  by  which  a 
speaker  makes  himself  heard.  Support,  purity  of  tone,  good 
vocal  quantity,  changes  of  pitch  between  words,  resonance,  and 
distinct  articulation  are  much  more  important. 

Emphasis  by  loudness  is  an  appeal  to  the  animal  instinct.  It 
is  expressive  of  anger,  uncontrolled  excitement,  and  the  lower 
emotions.  But  inflection,  changes  of  pitch,  pause,  and  move- 
ment appeal  to  the  rational  nature  of  man.  The  extension  of 
the  conversational  melody  or  form  is  the  most  dignified  and 


224  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

most  normal  method  of  emphasis.  In  proportion  to  the  dignity 
of  any  character,  the  sincerity  and  nobleness  of  any  human 
being,  will  these  elements  predominate  over  loudness  and  mere 
force  in  delivery.  In  proportion  to  the  nobleness  of  an  emotion 
or  thought,  we  find  a  tendency  to  accentuate  these  elements. 
Such  a  method  of  emphasis  is  appropriate  to  all  forms  of  litera- 
ture. The  highest  is  not  degraded  but  exalted  by  it ;  the  most 
sublime  and  most  tender  are  made  more  noble. 

Force  and  loudness,  however,  degrade  any  form  of  literature 
which  is  not  already  low.  These  modes  of  emphasis,  therefore, 
are  used  by  undignified  characters,  and  manifest  that  which  is 
degraded.  Such  methods,  therefore,  are  only  appropriate  in  the 
dramatic  representation  of  that  which  is  ignoble.  They  may  be 
adopted  by  an  actor  or  a  reader  to  show  a  moment  of  uncon- 
trolled passion,  where  there  is  no  appeal  to  reason  but  an  aim  to 
awaken  fear  or  to  dominate  another  by  force ;  to  contrast  a 
vulgar  man  with  one  who  is  noble.  But  even  here  they  must 
be  only  suggestive.  Loudness  of  itself  will  divert  and  not  win 
attention.     Its  use  as  a  mode  of  emphasis  must  be  rare. 

Problem  LXVII.  Give  a  noble  speech  first  with  stress  and  force, 
as  directed  in  many  books  on  elocution,  then  give  it  with  a  simple 
natural  tone,  accentuating  the  inflections,  and  extending  the 
changes  of  pitch,  range,  and  pauses,  and  note  the  difference. 

281  Speak  the  speech,  I  pray  you,  as  I  pronounced  it  to  you,  —  trip- 
pingly on  the  tongue ;  but  if  you  mouth  it,  as  many  of  our  players  do,  I 
had  as  lief  the  town-crier  spoke  my  lines.  Nor  do  not  saw  the  air  too 
much  with  your  hand,  thus;  but  use  all  gently :  for  in  the  very  torrent, 
tempest,  and,  as  I  may  say,  whirlwind  of  your  passion,  you  must  acquire 
and  beget  a  temperance  that  may  give  it  smoothness. 


282  Consider  all  that  lies  in  that  one  word,  Past!  What  a  pathetic, 
sacred,  in  every  sense  poetic,  meaning  is  implied  in  it ;  a  meaning  growing 
ever  the  clearer,  the  farther  we  recede  in  Time,  —  the  more  of  that  same 
Past  we  have  to  look  through !  .  .  .  History,  after  all,  is  the  true  Poetry; 
Reality,  if  rightly  interpreted,  is  grander  than  Fiction;  nay,  even  in  the 
right  interpretation  of  Reality  and  History  does  genuine  Poetry  consist. 


FORCE   AND   LOUDNESS.  225 

Problem  LXVIII.  Take  the  speech  of  a  queen  or  a  prince  and 
see  how  easily  the  dignity  may  he  destroyed  by  the  use  of  force 
as  a  means  of  emphasis;  and  how  indignation  can  be  given  by 
pause,  inflection,  and  change  of  pitch  without  losing  the  character. 


283  I  will  not  tarry ;  no,  nor  ever  more,  upon  this  business  my  ap- 
pearance make  in  any  of  their  courts. 

Queen  Catherine  in  "Henry  VIII."  Shakespeare. 

284    Once  more  unto  the  breach,  dear  friends,  once  more, 
Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  English  dead ! 
In  peace,  there's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man 
As  modest  stillness  and  humility: 
But  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears, 
Then  imitate  the  action  of  the  tiger; 
Stiffen  the  sinews,  summon  up  the  blood, 
Disguise  fair  nature  with  hard-favoured  rage.  .  .  . 
Hold  hard  the  breath,  and  bend  up  every  spirit 
To  his  full  height!  —  on,  on,  ye  noblest  English, 
Whose  blood  is  fet  from  fathers  of  war-proof! 
Fathers,  that,  like  so  many  Alexanders, 
Have  in  these  parts  from  morn  till  even  fought, 
And  sheathed  their  swords  for  lack  of  argument.  .  .  . 
I  see  you  stand  like  greyhounds  in  the  slips, 
Straining  upon  the  start.     The  game's  afoot: 
Follow  your  spirit;  and,  upon  this  charge 
Cry  —  Heaven  for  Harry !  England !  and  Saint  George ! 

"Henry  V."  

Problem  LXIX.  Show  how  an  ignoble  speech  may  be  ennobled 
by  giving  it  the  emphasis  by  form  and  inflection;  and  show  also 
the  difference  in  expression  between  anger  and  indignation. 


285    Pale,  trembling  coward !  there  I  throw  my  gage. 


286  Hotspur.  I'll  keep  them  all,  — by  Heaven!  he  shall  not  have  a 
Scot  of  them:  no,  if  a  Scot  would  save  his  soul,  he  shall  not:  I'll  keep 
them,  by  this  hand !    -  

287  If  ye  are  brutes,  then  stand  here  like  fat  oxen  waiting  for  the 
butcher's  knife;  if  ye  are  men,  follow  me!  strike  down  yon  sentinel,  and 
gain  the  mountain-passes,  and  there  do  bloody  work  as  did  your  sires  at 
old  Thermopylae ! 

15 


226  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

288    "  Halt!"  once  more  came  the  voice  of  dread; 
"  Halt !  or  your  blood  be  on  your  bead ! " 


Problem  LXX.  Show  how  a  noble  passage  may  be  perverted 
by  loudness  and  force,  and  how  the  most  exquisite  passage  may  be 
emphasized  by  form  without  perverting  its  spirit. 


289.    A  LOST  LOVE. 
I  meet  tby  pensive,  moonlight  face;  thy  thrilling  voice  I  hear; 
And  former  hours  and  scenes  retrace,  too  fleeting,  and  too  dear! 
Then  sighs  and  tears  flow  fast  and  free,  though  none  is  nigh  to  share ; 
And  life  has  naught  beside  for  me  so  sweet  as  this  despair. 

There  are  crush'd  hearts  that  will  not  break;  and  mine,  methinks,  is  one; 
Or  thus  I  should  not  weep  and  wake,  and  thou  to  slumber  gone. 
I  little  thought  it  thus  could  be  in  days  more  sad  and  fair  — 
That  earth  could  have  a  place  for  me,  and  thou  no  longer  there. 

Yet  death  cannot  our  hearts  divide,  or  make  thee  less  my  own: 
'Twere  sweeter  sleeping  at  thy  side  than  watching  here  alone. 
Yet  never,  never  can  we  part,  while  Memory  holds  her  reign ; 
Thine,  thine  is  still  this  wither* d  heart  till  we  shall  meet  again. 

H.  F.  Lytc. 


XXXV.    MODES   OF  EMPHASIS. 

rpHERE  are  many  ways  by  which  a  word  or  phrase  may  be 
-*-  made  salient,  or  an  idea  emphatic.  Among  these  the  most 
important  have  been  discussed:  inflection,  change  of  pitch, 
pause,  movement,  texture,  and  tone-color.  These  express  men- 
tal, imaginative,  or  emotional  activity.  There  are  others  which 
show  merely  physical  action,  that  tend  to  degrade  thought,  such 
as  stress,  loudness,  and  muscular  force. 

Rarely,  if  ever,  is  one  of  the  true  psychic  modes  of  emphasis 
found  isolated  from  the  others.  They  are  found  in  free  and 
complex  combination ;  often  all  of  them  are  present  at  the  same 
time.  Each  of  them  manifests  some  special  aspect  of  the  human 
being;  some,  degree  of  earnestness,  or  intensity;  some,  special 
action  or  attitude  of  the  man. 


MODES    OF   EMPHASIS.  227 

It  is  helpful  in  the  development  of  emphasis  to  analyze  and 
study  each  mode  separately,  and  to  practise  extracts  that  illus- 
trate each  of  them  separately  and  successively,  in  order  to  realize 
and  develop  the  special  expressive  power  of  each.  This  practice 
develops  these  various  forms  and  secures  an  increased  vocabulary 
of  vocal  actions. 

It  is  well  also  to  practice  occasionally  some  of  the  undignified 
modes  of  emphasis  in  contrast  with  the  nobler  modes,  in  order 
to  develop  a  sense  of  their  nature  and  place  in  expression,  and 
also  to  make  us  realize  the  effectiveness  of  inflection,  change  of 
pitch,  pause,  and  tone-color,  as  compared  with  mere  force  and 
volume  of  voice. 

When  the  practice  of  all  these  various  modes  is  neglected, 
there  is  a  tendency  to  drift  into  a  monotonous  use  of  one  form  of 
emphasis ;  one  mode  is  exaggerated,  and  that  generally  the  most 
undignified  one.  But  even  the  noblest  of  these  modes,  when 
used  to  the  exclusion  of  the  others,  will  deteriorate  into  an  arti- 
ficial and  ineffective  mannerism.  Many  have  lost  the  use  of  the 
several  modes  of  expression  through  neglect,  and  have  become 
totally  unconscious  of  them  as  natural  modes  of  emphasis.  Train- 
ing stimulates  and  awakens  what  is  latent;  it  builds  upon 
nature ;  it  develops  nature's  highest  possibilities  according  to  her 
own  laws  and  principles. 

Artistic  power  is  not  the  necessary  result  of  mere  artistic 
impulses ;  a  sense  of  correct  form  must  be  awakened,  and  the 
ability  to  manifest  this  form  must  be  developed.  Practice  is 
requisite  to  master  the  use  of  all  the  modes  of  expression,  but 
their  employment  should  be  spontaneous  and  natural,  and  in 
accordance  with  the  requirements  of  the  thought.  Therefore 
training  is  preliminary  to  expression.  TVe  may  be  analytic,  and 
exaggerate  in  consciousness  one  specific  element  in  training,  but 
in  the  act  of  expression  there  must  be  harmonious  co-operation. 
The  mind,  for  example,  except  in  practice  for  a  special  aim  or 
need,  should  not  dwell  too  much  upon  the  length  of  inflections 


228  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

or  the  degree  of  their  abruptness.  The  attention  in  expression 
must  be  upon  the  progress  of  the  ideas.  There  must  be  developed 
an  instinctive  command  of  form  and  technical  means,  and  the 
mind  must  be  concentrated  upon  the  central  ideas ;  otherwise 
there  will  be  self-consciousness  and  artificiality.  But  this  facility 
in  the  employment  of  technical  actions  can  only  be  gained  by 
the  faithful  practice  of  definite  and  adequate  exercises. 

There  are  three  general  ways  by  which  emphasis  may  be 
improved.  First,  by  developing  flexibility  and  responsiveness  of 
the  voice  so  that  every  act  of  the  mind  or  change  of  attitude 
shall  cause  a  change  in  the  voice.  Second,  by  acquiring  the  use 
of  all  the  natural  modes  of  emphasis  and  by  developing  the 
ability  to  distinguish  those  which  are  noble  from  those  which  are 
ignoble  in  significance.  Third,  by  cultivating  the  penetrative 
instinct  or  the  proper  method  of  the  mind  in  thinking ;  by  se- 
curing earnestness,  sincerity,  and  simplicity ;  in  short,  by  devel- 
oping the  right  action  of  the  powers  concerned  in  expression. 

Let  the  student  take  the  extracts  and  problems  already  given 
and  practice  them  with  each  mode  of  emphasis  successively,  and 
also  with  various  combinations  of  these  modes.  Such  practice 
is  helpful,  because  it  does  not  confine  the  student  to  one  mode 
and  cause  him  to  become  conventional  and  artificial,  but  awakens 
his  instincts,  and  gives  him  consciousness  of  his  powers  and  con- 
trol over  his  natural  modes  of  expression. 

Problem  LXXI.  Render  some  strong  passage  by  the  harmoni- 
ous union  of  all  possible  modes  of  emphasis,  and  also  show  that 
by  using  any  one  mode  exclusively  the  thought  may  not  only  lose 
its  force  and  beauty,  but  may  be  rendered  obscure  and  indefinite. 


290.    EPILOGUE  TO   AS0LAND0. 

At  the  midnight,  in  the  silence  of  the  sleep-time, 

When  you  set  your  fancies  free, 
Will  they  pass  to  where  —  by  death,  fools  think,  imprisoned  — 
Low  he  lies  who  once  so  loved  you,  whom  you  loved  so, 
Pity  me? 


MODES    OF    EMPHASIS.  229 

Oh  to  love  so,  be  so  loved,  yet  so  mistaken! 

What  had  I  on  earth  to  do 
With  the  slothful,  with  the  mawkish,  the  unmanly? 
Like  the  aimless,  helpless,  hopeless,  did  I  drivel. 
Being  who? 

One  who  never  turned  his  back,  but  marched  breast  forward, 

Never  doubted  clouds  would  break, 
Never  dreamed,  though  right  were  worsted,  wrong  would  triumph, 
Held  we  fall  to  rise,  are  baffled  to  fight  better, 
Sleep  to  wake. 

No,  at  noonday,  in  the  battle  of  man's  work-time, 

Greet  the  unseen  with  a  cheer ! 

Bid  him  forward,  breast  and  back  as  either  should  be, 

"  Strive  and  thrive ! "  cry,  "  Speed,  —  fight  on,  fare  ever 

There  as  here!" 

Browning. 

Problem  LXX1I.  Contrast  passages  entirely  different,  and  show 
that  the  modes  of  emphasis  and  all  the  various  elements  of  vocal 
expression  must  also  vary  according  to  the  character  of  the  thought. 


291.    A  DEAD  MAN'S  MESSAGE. 
He  who  died  at  Azan  sends  this,  to  comfort  faithful  friends. 

Faithful  friends !  It  lies,  I  know,  pale  and  cold,  and  still  as  snow; 
and  you  say,  "Abdullah's  dead!"  weeping  at  its  feet  and  head.  lean 
see  your  falling  tears,  I  can  hear  your  sighs  and  prayers;  yet  I  smile  and 
whisper  this,  "  I  am  not  the  thing  you  kiss;  cease  your  wail  and  let  it  lie, 
it  was  mine;  —  it  is  not  I!"  Sweet  friends!  what  the  women  lave  for  its 
last  bed  in  the  grave  was  a  hut  which  I  am  quitting  —  was  a  garment,  no 
more  fitting  —  was  a  cage,  wherefrom,  at  last  like  a  bird,  my  soul  hath 
past.  Love  the  inmate,  not  the  room,  the  wearer,  not  the  garb  —  the 
plume  of  the  eagle,  not  the  bars  whicn  kept  Mm  from  the  splendid  stars. 
Loving  friends !  be  wise  and  dry  straightway  every  weeping  eye !  What 
you  lift  upon  the  bier  is  not  worth  a  single  tear;  'tis  a  simple  sea-shell, 
one  out  of  which  the  pearl  is  gone;  the  shell  is  nothing — leave  it  there 
— the  pearl,  the  soul,  the  all  is  here!  'Tis  an  earthen  pot,  whose  lid 
Allah  sealed,  the  while  it  hid  that  treasure  of  His  treasury  —  a  mind  that 
loved  Him;  let  it  be!  Let  the  shard  be  earth's  once  more,  since  the  gold 
goes  to  His  store!  Allah  glorious,  Allah  good,  now  Thy  world  is  under- 
stood !  Now  the  long,  long  wgnder  «ads ;  yet  you  weep,  my  foolish  friends, 


230  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

while  the  man  you  say  "is  dead"  in  unspoken  bliss  instead  lives  and  loves 

you;  —  lost,  'tis  true,  for  any  light  that  shines  with  you;  but,  in  that  light 

you  do  not  see,  raised  to  full  felicity,  in  a  perfect  Paradise,  and  a  life 

which  never  dies.     Farewell  friends !  yet  not  farewell :  where  I  am  you 

too  shall  dwell;  I  am  gone  beyond  your  face,  a  moment's  march,  a  single 

pace.    When  you  come  where  I  have  stepped,  you  will  wonder  why  you 

wept;  you  will  see  by  true  life  taught,  that  here  is  all,  and  t  here  is  nought 

Weep  a  while,  if  you  are  fain,  sunshine  still  must  follow  rain,  only  not  at 

death  ;  for  death  now,  I  see,  is  that  long  breath  which  our  souls  draw 

when  they  enter  life  that  is  of  all  life  centre.     Be  ye  certain — all  seems 

love  viewed  from  Allah's  seat  above;  be  ye  stout  of  hope,  and  come 

bravely  onward  to  your  home.     From  its  happy  gate  my  ken  sees  you, 

struggling  "souls,"  not  "men,"  all  for  nameless  joys  decreed,  which  your 

wills  may  stay  or  speed;  but  not  one  —  at  last  —  to  fail,  since  at  last  Love 

must  prevail.    "La  Allah,  ilia  Allah,"  yea,  thou  Love  divine!  thou  Lord 

alway !    He  that  died  at  Azan  gave  this  —  to  those  who  made  his  grave. 

Edwin  Arnold. 

292    Under  the  slighting  light  of  the  yellow  sun  of  October, 

Close  by  the  side  of  the  car  track,  a  gang  of  Dagos  were  working ; 

Pausing  a  moment  to  catch  a  note  of  their  liquid  Italian, 

Faintly  I  heard  an  echo  of  Rome's  imperial  accents, 

Broken-down  forms  of  Latin  words  from  the  Senate  and  Forum, 

Now  smoothed  over  by  use  to  the  musical  lingua  Romana. 

Then  the  thought  came,  why,  these  are  the  heirs  of  the  Romans ; 

These  are  the  sons  of  the  men  who  founded  the  empire  of  Caesar ; 

These  are  they  whose  fathers  carried  the  conquering  eagles 

Over  all  Gaul  and  across  the  sea  to  Ultima  Thule. 

The  race-type  persists  unchanged  in  their  eyes  and  profiles  and  figures. 

Muscular,  short  and  thick-set,  with  prominent  noses,  recalling 

"Romanes  rerum  dominos,  gentemque  togatam." 

See,  Labienus  is  swinging  a  pick  with  rhythmical  motion ; 

Yonder  one  pushing  the  shovel  might  be  Julius  Caesar, 

Lean,  deep-eyed,  broad-browed,  and  bald,  a  man  of  a  thousand; 

Further  along  stands  the  jolly  Horatius  Flaccus ; 

Grim  and  grave,  with  rings  in  his  ears,  see  Cato  the  Censor. 

On  the  side  of  the  street,  in  proud  and  gloomy  seclusion, 
Bossing  the  job,  stood  a  Celt:  the  race  enslaved  by  the  legions, 
Sold  in  the  markets  of  Rome  to  meet  the  expenses  of  Csesur. 
And,  as  I  loitered,  the  Celt  cried  out:  "  Warruk,  ye  Dagos!" 
"  Full  up  your  shovel,  Paythro,  ye  hathen !  I'll  dock  yees  a  quarther." 


DEGREES    OF   EMPHASIS.  231 

This  he  said  to  the  one  who  resembled  the  great  imperator ; 
Meekly  the  dignified  Koman  kept  on  patiently  digging. 
Such  are  the  changes  and  chances  the  centuries  bring  to  the  nations; 
Surely  the  ups  and  downs  of  the  world  are  past  calculation. 
"Possibly,"  thus  I  thought  to  myself,  "the  yoke  of  the  Irish 
May  in  turn  be  lifted  from  us,  in  the  tenth  generation. 
Now  the  Celt  is  on  top ;  but  time  may  bring  his  revenges, 
Turning  the  Fenian  down,  once  more  to  be  bossed  by  a  Dago." 

Hartford  Courant. 


XXXVL     DEGREES  OF  EMPHASIS. 

npHE  word  '  emphasis '  is  used  in  at  least  two  different  senses. 
-■-  The  term  is  applied  to  the  manifestation  of  the  successive 
centres  of  the  mind's  attention ;  it  names  the  process  of  reveal- 
ing the  method  of  the  mind  in  thinking,  the  logical  sequence  of 
ideas  through  inflection  and  other  modulations  of  the  voice. 
This  usage  of  the  word  applies  to  the  intellectual  aspects  of 
vocal  expression  in  the  simplest  conversation  as  well  as  in  the 
highest  oratory. 

But  the  term  *  emphasis '  is  also  employed  to  designate  some 
unusual  development  of  this  vocal  form  in  revealing  the  process 
of  thought,  or  to  degrees  higher  than  are  required  to  manifest 
the  actions  of  the  mind  in  ordinary  conversation.  To  use  em- 
phasis in  this  sense  is  to  make  the  central  ideas  more  salient ;  it 
enlarges  the  conversational  form  in  order  to  show  or  win  greater 
attention,  to  make  manifest  some  deeper  meaning  or  broader 
relation,  or  to  give  saliency  to  a  sentence  or  phrase  or  word. 
According  to  this  view  a  sentence  may  be  spoken  naturally  and 
simply  but  without  emphasis,  or  the  same  sentence  may  be 
spoken  with  emphasis. 

In  any  art  it  is  best  to  confine  a  word  to  a  specific  idea. 
Hence  is  it  not  best  to  use  the  word  '  emphasis '  as  the  name  of 
the  manifestation  through  the  voice  of  the  sequence  of  the  mind 
in  thinking,  but  to  employ  the  phrase  '  degrees  of  emphasis '  in 
the  second  sense  of  the  enlargement  of  conversational  form  ? 


232  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Emphasis  can  be  increased  in  proportion  to  the  extension  or 
enlargement  of  the  elements  of  conversational  form.  The  in- 
flections and  changes  of  pitch  are  lengthened,  the  pauses  are 
extended,  the  rhythmic  movement  is  more  varied  according  to 
the  degree  of  earnestness  or  emphasis.  The  emphatic  words  are 
made  more  prominent,  and  those  not  emphatic  are  made  more 
subordinate,  normally  by  greater  range  of  voice. 

It  is  important  to  study  and  to  practice  degrees  of  emphasis, 
because  it  is  the  endeavor  to  increase  the  degree  of  emphasis  that 
causes  a  great  many  faults  in  delivery.  There  is  often  a  tendency 
to  submerge  all  the  elements  of  form  in  mere  loudness ;  to  throw 
all  the  energy  into  some  abnormal  push  or  swell,  and  to  elimi- 
nate change  of  pitch,  inflection,  and  range ;  this  tendency  is  the 
cause  of  rant  and  stilted  delivery,  and  develops  the  declamatory 
and  unnatural  methods  so  common  among  speakers. 

A  young  speaker  who  aims  to  correct  these  defects  or  to  avoid 
the  formation  of  obnoxious  mannerisms  should  read  some  of  the 
simple,  dignified  passages  which  have  been  illustrated,  with  con- 
versational ease  and  repose,  and  then  give  them  so  they  can  be 
heard  by  a  thousand  people,  being  careful  to  increase  emphasis 
by  simply  extending  the  range,  length  of  inflection,  changes  of 
pitch,  and  pauses. 

The  contrasts  which  have  already  been  mentioned  between 
the  simplest  and  plainest  conversation  and  the  largest  and  most 
emphatic  extension  of  the  elements  of  vocal  form,  preserving 
naturalness  in  both  cases,  constitute  also  an  important  exercise 
for  practice. 

Of  course,  with  increase  of  emphasis  there  is  increase  of 
intensity.  Intensity  is  manifested  by  means  of  simple  decisive- 
ness of  touch,  inflections,  and  changes  of  pitch,  or  by  extending 
the  pauses  and  the  range  of  voice.  Dignity  and  intensity  in  em- 
phasis are  destroyed  by  loudness.  They  are  preserved  in  direcf 
proportion  as  the  increase  in  degrees  of  emphasis  is  obtained  by 
extending  range,  and  not  by  increase  of  loudness. 


DEGREES   OP   EMPHASIS.  233 

In  order  to  prevent  declamatory  stiltedness  and  to  develop 
sensitiveness  to  the  nobleness  and  dignity  of  naturalness  and 
simplicity,  it  is  a  good  practice  to  give  the  speech  of  a  king, 
prince,  or  other  exalted  personage  without  lowering  his  dignity 
or  losing  the  character,  or  acting  in  any  way  inconsistent  with 
its  spirit.  Though  the  royal  speech  be  excited  or  earnest,  it 
should  be  in  harmony  with  his  dignity  and  bearing. 

Problem  LXXIII.  Read  a  most  emphatic  passage  with  its  true 
spirit  of  earnestness  and  energy,  but  by  increasing  the  touch  and 
extending  the  range,  without  increasing  the  volume  of  tone  above 
the  ordinary  conversational  degree  of  loudness. 

293  But,  my  lords,  who  is  the  man  that,  in  addition  to  the  disgrace 
and  mischiefs  of  the  war,  has  dared  to  authorize  and  associate  to  our  arms 
the  tomahawk  and  scalping-knife  of  the  savage?  —  to  call  into  civilized 
alliance  the  wild  and  inhuman  inhabitants  of  the  woods?  —  to  delegate  to 
the  merciless  Indian  the  defence  of  disputed  rights,  and  to  wage  the 
horrors  of  his  barbarous  war  against  our  brethren?  My  lords,  these 
enormities  cry  aloud  for  redress  and  punishment.  Pitt. 


294  We  are  in  God's  hand,  brother,  not  in  theirs;  march  to  the  bridge. 


295    Once  to  every  man  and  nation  comes  the  moment  to  decide, 
In  the  strife  of  Truth  with  Falsehood,  for  the  good  or  evil  side. 

.  Lowell. 

Problem  LXXIV.  Read  a  series  of  extracts,  giving  the  first  as 
if  to  only  one  friend,  and  increase  or  vary  the  audience  and  the 
earnestness,  till  at  last  a  passage  can  be  given  to  a  vast  audience  of 
the  representatives  of  a  great  nation  upon  an  important  issue. 

296  Excellence,  in  human  art  as  in  human  character,  has  from  the 
beginning  of  things  been  even  more  uniform  than  Mediocrity,  by  virtue 
of  the  closeness  of  its  approach  to  Nature.  Palgrave. 


297    A  dewdkop,  falling  on  the  wild  sea-wave, 
Exclaimed  in  fear,  "  I  perish  in  this  grave!" 
But,  in  a  shell  received,  that  drop  of  dew 
Unto  a  pearl  of  marvellous  beauty  grew ; 
And,  happy,  now  the  grave  did  magnify 
Which  thrust  it  forth,  as  it  had  feared,  to  die; 


234  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Until  again,  "  I  perish  quite!"  it  said, 
Torn  by  rude  diver  from  its  ocean  bed. 
Oh,  unbelieving!    So  it  came  to  gleam 
Chief  jewel  in  a  monarch's  diadem. 
"Life  Through  Death."  Richard  Chenevix  Trench. 

298  We  sit  as  in  a  boundless  Phantasmagoria  and  Dream-grotto; 
boundless,  for  the  faintest  star,  the  remotest  century,  lies  not  even  nearer 
the  verge  thereof :  sounds  and  many-coloured  visions  flit  round  our  sense ; 
but  Him,  the  Unslumbering,  whose  work  both  Dream  and  Dreamer  are, 
we  see  not ;  except  in  rare  half -waking  moments,  suspect  not.  Creation, 
says  one,  lies  before  us,  like  a  glorious  Rainbow ;  but  the  Sun  that  made 
it  lies  behind  us,  hidden  from  us.  Then,  in  that  strange  Dream,  how  we 
clutch  at  shadows  as  if  they  were  substances;  and  sleep  deepest  while 
fancying  ourselves  most  awake !  Carlyle. 


299.    THE  CONVENTION  OF  FRANCE,  1789. 

I  hear  much  said  of  patriotism,  appeals  to  patriotism,  transports  of 
patriotism.  Gentlemen,  why  prostitute  this  noble  word?  Is  it  so  very 
magnanimous  to  give  up  a  part  of  your  income  in  order  to  save  your 
whole  property?  This  is  very  simple  arithmetic ;  and  he  that  hesitates, 
deserves  contempt  rather  than  indignation. 

Yes,  gentlemen,  it  is  to  your  immediate  self-interest,  to  your  most 
familiar  notions  of  prudence  and  policy,  that  I  now  appeal.  I  say  not  to 
you  now,  as  heretofore,  beware  how  you  give  the  world  the  first  example 
of  an  assembled  nation  untrue  to  the  public  faith.  I  ask  you  not,  as  here- 
tofore, what  right  you  have  to  freedom,  or  what  means  of  maintaining  it, 
if,  at  your  first  step  in  administration,  you  outdo  in  baseness  all  the  old 
and  corrupt  governments.  I  tell  you,  that  unless  you  prevent  this  catas- 
trophe, you  will  all  be  involved  in  the  general  ruin ;  and  that  you  are 
yourselves  the  persons  most  deeply  interested  in  making  the  sacrifices 
which  the  government  demands  of  you. 

I  exhort  you,  then,  most  earnestly,  to  vote  these  extraordinary  sup- 
plies ;  and  God  grant  they  may  prove  sufficient !  Vote  them,  I  beseech 
you ;  for,  even  if  you  doubt  the  expediency  of  the  means,  you  know  per- 
fectly well  that  the  supplies  are  necessary,  and  that  you  are  incapable  of 
raising  them  in  any  other  way.  Vote  them  at  once,  for  the  crisis  does  not 
admit  of  delay;  and,  if  it  occurs,  we  must  be  responsible  for  the  conse- 
quences. 

Beware  of  asking  for  time.  Misfortune  accords  it  never.  While  you 
are  lingering,  the  evil  day  will  come  upon  you.     Why,  gentlemen,  it  is 


FAULTS   OF   EMPHA8IS.  235 

but  a  few  days  since,  that  upon  occasion  of  some  foolish  bustle  in  the 
Palais  Royal,  some  ridiculous  insurrection  that  existed  nowhere  but  in 
the  heads  of  a  few  weak  or  designing  individuals,  we  were  told  with  em- 
phasis, "  Catiline  is  at  the  gates  of  Rome,  and  yet  we  deliberate."  We 
know,  gentlemen,  that  this  was  all  imagination.  We  are  far  from  being 
at  Rome ;  nor  is  there  any  Catiline  at  the  gates  of  Paris.  But  now  are  we 
threatened  with  a  real  danger :  bankruptcy,  national  bankruptcy,  is  before 
you;  it  threatens  to  swallow  up  your  persons,  your  property,  your  honor, 

—  and  yet  you  deliberate. 

Mirabeau. 


XXXVII.    FAULTS   OF  EMPHASIS. 

rpHE  chief  faults  of  emphasis  are  a  lack  of  decision  of  touch, 
-*-  a  lack  of  directness  or  straightness  of  inflection,  the  sub- 
stitution of  force  for  form,  a  lack  of  range  of  voice,  a  constant 
use  of  some  one  mode,  no  definite  centres  of  attention  and  the 
elimination  of  all  emphasis,  or  the  making  of  too  many  words 
emphatic.  It  is  impossible  in  writing  to  explain  these,  or  even  to 
enumerate  a  tenth  of  the  common  faults  among  speakers.  The 
detection  of  specific  faults  must  be  the  work  of  a  teacher. 

One  specific  fault  may  be  illustrated:  a  drop  of  the  voice 
upon  the  emphatic  word  instead  of  a  salient  falling  inflection 
from  a  higher  pitch.  There  is  a  rising  of  the  voice  towards  the 
emphatic  word,  but  when  that  is  reached,  the  voice  drops  upon 
the  word,  and  the  interval  is  not  an  upward  interval  before  the 
emphatic  falling  inflection,  but  a  downward  one  in  the  same  di- 
rection as  the  inflection.  This  fault  is  the  chief  element  in  what 
is  called  '  ministerial '  melody.  It  gives  the  impression  of  a  kind 
of  passive  sadness.  It  is  caused  by  a  lack  of  saliency,  absence 
of  control,  or  a  vague  ecstatic  condition  of  the  mind. 

In  the  development  of  emphasis  it  is  better  to  be  positive 
rather  than  negative.  The  general  steps  and  methods  here 
arranged  will  tend  to  prevent  as  well  as  to  eliminate  all  faults. 
In  the  correction  of  mannerisms,  there  must  be  a  definite  diag- 
nosis by  the  teacher  and  a  special  application  of  principles  so  as 
to  eradicate  causes  of  faults. 


236  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

The  chief  causes  of  faults  are  found  in  a  lack  of  definite 
thinking,  a  failure  to  relate  ideas  to  each  other,  a  lack  of 
methodic  insight,  a  failure  to  concentrate  and  hold  the  mind 
upon  a  single  idea  and  to  subordinate  others,  the  absence  of 
progression  toward  an  idea  held  in  the  mind  during  the  sequence 
of  sentences  or  paragraphs,  lack  of  control  over  emotion,  and 
inflexibility  of  the  voice. 

No  amount  of  technical  work,  no  amount  of  diagnosis  as  to 
the  nature  of  any  fault  or  acquisition  of  some  right  mechanical 
action  will  correct  faults  without  the  removal  of  the  cause.  Un- 
less the  cause  is  removed,  the  fault  will  return,  even  though 
the  man  may  see  it  and  may  consciously  avoid  it  for  a  time. 
The  true  secret  of  naturalness  in  emphasis  is  to  give  each  idea 
specific  value  in  relation  to  the  thought.  The  student  must  be 
true  to  the  process  of  his  mind ;  he  must  mean  what  he  says  and 
say  what  he  means,  and  make  each  step  manifest.  Faults  often 
arise  from  a  wholesaling  of  ideas  instead  of  giving  each  central 
idea  individual  force  or  in  detail.  The  student  must  think  one 
idea  at  a  time,  and  so  present  it  that  another  mind  cannot  fail 
to  receive  it;  he  should  be  simple,  sincere  and  direct  in  his 
mental  attitude  toward  each  idea  and  specific  in  the  presenta- 
tion of  it  to  his  auditor. 

The  mind  must  be  trained  to  carry  what  has  been  given,  what 
is  familiar,  and  to  penetrate  to  the '  additional  point,'  or  to  select 
the  right  word ;  and  to  introduce  to  the  audience  the  one  idea  in 
each  clause,  and  to  give  the  right  degree  of  accentuation  that 
will  cause  progress  towards  a  purpose. 

One  of  the  simplest  and  most  effective  methods  of  correcting 
defects  of  emphasis,  is  to  assign  dialogues  from  standard  dramas. 
By  this  means  a  student  is  led  to  study  the  action  of  the  mind 
and  its  effect  upon  the  voice.  Scenes  may  be  chosen  with  more 
or  less  of  animation,  and  with  varying  degrees  of  dignity  and 
intensity,  to  suit  each  individual  need.  The  student  should  listen 
to  his  interlocutor  and  relate  every  word  and  idea  to  him. 


FAULTS   OF   EMPHASIS.  237 

A  monologue  is  also  helpful.  It  gives  a  specific  character  in 
a  specific  situation,  and  speaks  to  a  specific  though  imaginary- 
hearer.  In  general,  students  should  be  assigned  different  forms 
of  literature  and  speaking.  All  should  be  made  to  reproduce 
simply  the  thought  of  good  literature. 


300.    SCENES  FROM  THE  "SCHOOL  FOE  SCANDAL." 

I. 

Sir  Peter.    Lady  Teazle,  Lady  Teazle,  I'll  not  bear  it ! 

Lady  Teazle.  Sir  Peter,  Sir  Peter,  you  may  bear  it  or  not,  as  you 
please;  but  I  ougbt  to  bave  my  own  way  in  everything,  and  what's  more, 
I  will  too.  What  though  I  was  educated  in  the  country,  I  know  very  well 
that  women  of  fashion  in  London  are  accountable  to  nobody  after  they 
are  married. 

Sir  Peter.  Very  well,  ma'am,  very  well;  so  a  husband  is  to  have  no 
influence,  no  authority? 

Lady  Teazle.  Authority!  No,  to  be  sure;  if  you  wanted  authority 
over  me,  you  should  have  adopted  me,  and  not  married  me ;  I  am  sure  you 
were  old  enough. 

Sir  Peter.  Old  enough !  —  ay  —  there  it  is.  "Well,  well,  Lady  Teazle, 
though  my  life  may  be  made  unhappy  by  your  temper,  I'll  not  be  ruined 
by  your  extravagance. 

Lady  Teazle.  My  extravagance!  I'm  sure  I'm  not  more  extravagant 
than  a  woman  ought  to  be. 

Sir  Peter.  No,  no,  madam,  you  shall  throw  away  no  more  sums  on 
such  unmeaning  luxury.  'Slife!  to  spend  as  much  to  furnish  your  dress- 
ing-room with  flowers  in  winter  as  would  suffice  to  turn  the  Pantheon 
into  a  green-house. 

Lady  Teazle.  Lud,  Sir  Peter,  am  I  to  blame,  because  flowers  are  dear 
in  cold  weather?  You  should  find  fault  with  the  climate,  and  not  with 
me.  For  my  part,  I'm  sure,  I  wish  it  was  spring  all  the  year  round,  and 
that  roses  grew  under  our  feet ! 

Sir  Peter.  Zounds!  madam — if  you  had  been  born  to  this,  I  shouldn't 
wonder  at  your  talking  thus ;  but  you  forget  what  your  situation  was  when 
I  married  you. 

Lady  Teazle.  No,  no,  I  don't;  'twas  a  very  disagreeable  one,  or  I 
should  never  have  married  you. 

Sir  Peter.  Yes,  yes,  madam,  you  were  then  in  somewhat  a  humbler 
style,— the  daughter  of  a  plain  country  squire.    Kecollect,  Lady  Teazle, 


238  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

when  I  saw  you  first  sitting  at  your  tambor,  in  a  pretty  figured  linen 
gown,  with  a  bunch  of  keys  at  your  side ;  your  hair  combed  smooth  over 
a  roll,  and  your  apartment  hung  round  with  fruits  in  worsted  of  your 
own  working. 

Lady  Teazle.  Oh  yes!  I  remember  it  very  well,  and  a  curious  life  I 
led,  —  my  daily  occupation  to  inspect  the  dairy,  superintend  the  poultry, 
make  extracts  from  the  family  receipt-book,  and  comb  my  Aunt  Deb- 
orah's lap  dog. 

Sir  Peter.    Yes,  yes,  ma'am,  'twas  so  indeed. 

Lady  Teazle.  And  then,  you  know,  my  evening  amusements;  —  to 
draw  patterns  for  ruffles,  which  I  had  not  materials  to  make  up ;  to  play 
Pope  Joan  with  the  curate ;  to  read  a  novel  to  my  aunt ;  or  to  be  stuck 
down  to  an  old  spinnet  to  strum  my  father  to  sleep  after  a  fox-chase. 

Sir  Peter.  I  am  glad  you  have  so  good  a  memory.  Yes,  madam,  these 
were  the  recreations  I  took  you  from;  but  now  you  must  have  your  coach 
—  vis-a-vis  —  and  three  powdered  footmen  before  your  chair;  and,  in  sum- 
mer, a  pair  of  white  cats  to  draw  you  to  Kensington  Gardens.  No  recol- 
lection, I  suppose,  when  you  were  content  to  ride  double,  behind  the 
butler,  on  a  docked  coach-horse. 

Lady  Teazle.  No — I  never  did  that:  I  deny  the  butler  and  the  coach- 
horse. 

Sir  Peter.  This,  madam,  was  your  situation ;  and  what  have  I  done 
for  you?  I  have  made  you  a  woman  of  fashion,  of  fortune,  of  rank;  in 
short,  I  have  made  you  my  wife. 

Lady  Teazle.  Well,  then ;  and  there  is  but  one  thing  more  you  can 
make  me  add  to  the  obligation,  and  that  is  — 

Sir  Peter.    My  widow,  I  suppose? 

Lady  Teazle.    Hem!  hem! 

Sir  Peter.  I  thank  you,  madam;  but  don't  flatter  yourself;  for  though 
your  ill  conduct  may  disturb  my  peace  of  mind,  it  shall  never  break  my 
heart,  I  promise  you:  however,  I  am  equally  obliged  to  you  for  the  hint. 

Lady  Teazle.  Then  why  will  you  endeavor  to  make  yourself  so  dis- 
agreeable to  me,  and  thwart  me  in  every  little  elegant  expense? 

Sir  Peter.  'Slife,  madam,  I  say,  had  you  any  of  these  little  elegant 
expenses  when  you  married  me? 

Lady  Teazle.    Lud,  Sir  Peter !  would  you  have  me  be  out  of  the  fashion? 

Sir  Peter.  The  fashion,  indeed !  What  had  you  to  do  with  the  fashion 
before  you  married  me? 

Lady  Teazle.  For  my  part,  I  should  think  you  would  like  to  have 
your  wife  thought  a  woman  of  taste. 


FAULTS    OF   EMPHASIS.  239 

Sir  Peter.  Ay ;  there  again  —  taste.  Zounds !  madam,  you  had  no  taste 
when  you  married  me ! 

Lady  Teazle.  That's  very  true  indeed,  Sir  Peter;  and  after  having 
married  you,  I  should  never  pretend  to  taste  again,  I  allow.  But  now, 
Sir  Peter,  since  we  have  finished  our  daily  jangle,  I  presume  I  may  go  to 
my  engagement  at  Lady  Sneerwell's? 

Sir  Peter.  Ay,  there's  another  precious  circumstance — a  charming 
set  of  acquaintance  you  have  made  there. 

Lady  Teazle.  Nay,  Sir  Peter,  they  are  all  people  of  rank  and  fortune, 
and  remarkably  tenacious  of  reputation. 

Sir  Peter.  Yes,  egad,  they  are  tenacious  of  reputation  with  a  ven- 
geance; for  they  don't  choose  anybody  should  have  a  character  but  them- 
selves !  —  Such  a  crew !  Ah !  many  a  wretch  has  rid  on  a  hurdle  who  has 
done  less  mischief  than  these  utterers  of  forged  tales,  coiners  of  scandal, 
and  clippers  of  reputation. 

Lady  Teazle.    What!  would  you  restrain  the  freedom  of  speech? 

Sir  Peter.  Ah !  they  have  made  you  just  as  bad  as  any  one  of  the  society. 

Lady  Teazle.   Why,  I  believe  I  do  bear  a  part  with  a  tolerable  grace. 

Sir  Peter.     Grace,  indeed ! 

Lady  Teazle.  But  I  vow  I  bear  no  malice  against  the  people  I  abuse. 
When  I  say  an  ill-natured  thing,  'tis  out  of  pure  good-humor;  and  I  take 
it  for  granted,  they  deal  exactly  in  the  same  manner  with  me.  But,  Sir 
Peter,  you  know  you  promised  to  come  to  Lady  Sneerwell's  too. 

Sir  Peter.    Well,  well,  I'll  call  in  just  to  look  after  my  own  character. 

Lady  Teazle.  Then  indeed  you  must  make  haste  after  me,  or  you'll 
be  too  late.    So,  good-by  to  you.  [Exit  Lady  Teazle. 

Sir  Pet°.r.  So  —  I  have  gained  much  by  my  intended  expostulation: 
yet,  with  what  a  charming  air  she  contradicts  everything  I  say,  and  how 
pleasingly  she  show3  her  contempt  for  my  authority!  Well,  though  I 
can't  make  her  love  me,  there  is  great  satisfaction  in  quarrelling  with 
her;  and  I  think  she  never  appears  to  such  advantage,  as  when  she  is 
doing  everything  in  her  power  to  plague  me.  [Exit. 

ii. 

Lady  Teazle.  Lud!  Sir  Peter,  I  hope  you  haven't  been  quarrelling 
with  Maria?  It  is  not  using  me  well  to  be  ill-humored  when  I  am  not  by. 

Sir  Peter.  Ah!  Lady  Teazle,  you  might  have  the  power  to  make  me 
good-humored  at  all  times. 

Lady  Teazle.  I  am  sure  I  wish  I  had ;  for  I  want  you  to  be  in  a  charm- 
ing sweet  temper  at  this  moment.  Do  be  good-humored  now,  and  let  me 
have  two  hundred  pounds,  will  you? 


240  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Sir  Peter.  Two  hundred  pounds !  What,  ain't  I  to  be  in  a  good  humor 
without  paying  for  it?  But  speak  to  me  thus,  and  i'  faith  there's  nothing 
I  could  refuse  you.  Tou  shall  have  it  [gives  her  notes] ;  but  seal  me  a 
bond  of  repayment. 

Lady  Teazle.     Oh  no;  there  —  my  note  of  hand  will  do  as  well. 

Sir  Peter.  And  you  shall  no  longer  reproach  me  with  not  giving  you 
an  independent  settlement.  I  mean  shortly  to  surprise  you:  —  but  shall 
we  always  live  thus,  hey? 

Lady  Teazle.  If  you  please.  I'm  sure  I  don't  care  how  soon  we  leave 
off  quarrelling,  provided  you'll  own  you  were  tired  first. 

Sir  Peter.  Well ;  then  let  our  future  contest  be,  who  shall  be  most 
obliging. 

Lady  Teazle.  I  assure  you,  Sir  Peter,  good-nature  becomes  you :  you  look 
now  as  you  did  before  we  were  married,  when  you  used  to  walk  with  me 
under  the  elms,  and  tell  me  stories  of  what  a  gallant  you  were  in  your 
youth,  and  chuck  me  under  the  chin,  you  would;  and  ask  me  if  I  thought 
I  could  love  an  old  fellow,  who  would  deny  me  nothing  —  didn't  you? 

Sir  Peter.     Yes,  yes,  and  you  were  kind  and  attentive  — 
Lady  Teazle.   Ay,  so  I  was,  and  would  always  take  your  part  when  my 
acquaintance  used  to  abuse  you,  and  turn  you  into  ridicule. 

Sir  Peter.     Indeed ! 

Lady  Teazle.  Ay ;  and  when  my  cousin  Sophy  has  called  you  a  stiff, 
peevish  old  bachelor,  and  laughed  at  me  for  thinking  of  marrying  one 
who  might  be  my  father,  I  have  always  defended  you,  and  said,  I  didn't 
think  you  so  ugly  by  any  means. 

Sir  Peter.    Thank  you. 

Lady  Teazle.  And  I  dared  say  you'd  make  a  very  good  sort  of  a 
husband. 

Sir  Peter.  And  you  prophesied  right :  and  we  shall  now  be  the  happiest 
couple — 

Lady  Teazle.    And  never  differ  again? 

Sir  Peter.  No,  never!  —  though  at  the  same  time,  indeed,  my  dear 
Lady  Teazle,  you  must  watch  your  temper  very  seriously;  for  in  all  our 
little  quarrels,  my  dear,  if  you  recollect,  my  love,  you  always  begin  first. 

Lady  Teazle.  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  Sir  Peter;  indeed,  you 
always  gave  the  provocation. 

Sir  Peter.  Now  see,  my  angel!  take  care  —  contradicting  isn't  the  way 
to  keep  friends. 

Lady  Teazle.     Then  don't  you  begin  it,  my  love. 

Sir  Peter.    There,  now !  you  —  you  are  going  on.    You  don' t  perceive, 


FAULTS   OF   EMPHASIS.  241 

my  life,  that  you  are  just  doing  the  very  thing  which  you  know  always 
makes  me  angry. 

Lady  Teazle.  Nay,  you  know  if  you  will  be  angry  without  any  reason, 
my  dear  — 

Sir  Peter.    There !  now  you  want  to  quarrel  again. 

Lady  Teazle.    No,  I  am  sure  I  don't;  but  if  you  will  be  so  peevish  — 

Sir  Peter.    There  now!  who  begins  first? 

Lady  Teazle.  Why,  you,  to  be  sure.  I  said  nothing  —  but  there's  no 
bearing  your  temper. 

Sir  Peter.    No,  no,  madam;  the  fault's  in  your  own  temper. 

Lady  Teazle.  Ay,  you  are  just  what  my  cousin  Sophy  said  you 
would  be. 

Sir  Peter.    Tour  cousin  Sophy  is  a  forward,  impertinent  gipsy. 

Lady  Teazle.    Tou  are  a  great  bear,  I'm  sure,  to  abuse  my  relations. 

Sir  Peter.  Now  may  all  the  plagues  of  marriage  be  doubled  on  me,  if 
ever  I  try  to  be  friends  with  you  any  more. 

Lady  Teazle.    So  much  the  better. 

Sir  Peter.  No,  no,  madam:  'tis  evident  you  never  cared  a  pin  for  me, 
and  I  was  a  madman  to  marry  you  —  a  pert,  rural  coquette  that  had  re- 
fused half  the  honest  squires  in  the  neighborhood. 

Lady  Teazle.  And  I  am  sure  I  was  a  fool  to  marry  you  —  an  old 
dangling  bachelor,  who  was  single  at  fifty,  only  because  he  never  could 
meet  with  anyone  who  would  have  him. 

Sir  Peter.  Ay,  ay,  madam;  but  you  were  pleased  enough  to  listen  to 
me :  you  never  had  such  an  offer  before. 

Lady  Teazle.  No!  didn't  I  refuse  Sir  Tivy  Terrier,  who  everybody 
said  would  have  been  a  better  match?  for  his  estate  is  just  as  good  as 
yours,  and  he  has  broke  his  neck  since  we  have  been  married. 

Sir  Peter.  I  have  done  with  you,  madam !  Tou  are  an  unfeeling,  un- 
grateful— but  there's  an  end  of  everything.  I  believe  you  capable  of 
everything  that  is  bad.  Tes,  madam,  I  now  believe  the  reports  relative 
to  you  and  Charles,  madam.  Tes,  madam,  you  and  Charles  are  —  not 
without  grounds. 

Lady  Teazle.  Take  care,  Sir  Peter !  you  had  better  not  insinuate  any 
such  thing!    I'll  not  be  suspected  without  cause,  I  promise  you. 

Sir  Peter.  Very  well,  madam!  very  well!  A  separate  maintenance  as 
soon  as  you  please!  Tes,  madam,  or  a  divorce!  —  I'll  make  an  example 
of  myself  for  the  benefit  of  all  old  bachelors. 

Lady  Teazle.  Agreed!  agreed!  And  now,  my  dear  Sir  Peter,  we  are 
of  a  mind  once  more,  we  may  be  the  happiest  couple  —  and  never  differ 

16 


242  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

again,  you  know  —  ha!  ha!  ha!    Well,  you  are  going  to  be  in  a  passion,  I 
see,  and  I  shall  only  interrupt  you:  so,  bye  —  bye. 

Sir  Peter.  Plagues  and  tortures!  Can't  I  make  her  angry  either!  Oh, 
I  am  the  most  miserable  fellow!  But  I'll  not  bear  her  presuming  to  keep 
her  temper :  no !  she  may  break  my  heart,  but  she  shan't  keep  her  temper. 

Sheridan. 

301.    THE  ITALIAN  IN  ENGLAND. 

That  second  time  they  hunted  me  from  hill  to  plain,  from  shore  to 
sea,  and  Austria,  hounding  far  and  wide  her  blood-hounds  thro'  the 
country-side,  breathed  hot  and  instant  on  my  trace,  —  I  made  six  days  a 
hiding-place  of  that  dry  green  old  aqueduct  where  I  and  Charles,  when 
boys,  have  plucked  the  fire-flies  from  the  roof  above,  bright  creeping  thro' 
the  moss  they  love :  —  how  long  it  seems  since  Charles  was  lost !  Six  days 
the  soldiers  crossed  and  crossed  the  country  in  my  very  sight;  and  when 
that  peril  ceased  at  night,  the  sky  broke  out  in  red  dismay  with  signal 
fires;  well,  there  I  lay  close  covered  o'er  in  my  recess,  up  to  the  neck  in 
ferns  and  cress,  thinking  on  Metternich  our  friend,  and  Charles's  miserable 
end,  and  much  beside,  two  days;  the  third,  hunger  o'ercame  me  when  I 
heard  the  peasants  from  the  village  go  to  work  among  the  maize;  you 
know,  with  us  in  Lombardy,  they  bring  provisions  packed  on  mules,  a 
string  with  little  bells  that  cheer  their  task,  and  casks,  and  boughs  on 
every  cask  to  keep  the  sun's  heat  from  the  wine;  these  I  let  pass  in  jing- 
ling line,  and,  close  on  them,  dear  noisy  crew,  the  peasants  from  the 
village,  too;  for  at  the  very  rear  would  troop  their  wives  and  sisters  in  a 
group  to  help,  I  knew.  When  these  had  passed,  I  threw  my  glove  to 
strike  the  last,  taking  the  chance:  she  did  not  start,  much  less  cry  out, 
but  stooped  apart,  one  instant  rapidly  glanced  round,  and  saw  me  beckon 
from  the  ground.  A  wild  bush  grows  and  hides  my  crypt ;  she  picked  my 
glove  up  while  she  stripped  a  branch  off,  then  rejoined  the  rest  with  that; 
my  glove  lay  in  her  breast.  Then  I  drew  breath ;  they  disappeared :  it 
was  for  Italy  I  feared. 

An  hour,  and  she  returned  alone  exactly  where  my  glove  was  thrown. 
Meanwhile  came  many  thoughts :  on  me  rested  the  hopes  of  Italy.  I  had 
devised  a  certain  tale  which,  when  'twas  told  her,  could  not  fail  persuade 
a  peasant  of  its  truth ;  I  meant  to  call  a  freak  of  youth  this  hiding,  and 
give  hopes  of  pay,  and  no  temptation  to  betray.  But  when  I  saw  that 
woman's  face,  its  calm  simplicity  of  grace,  our  Italy's  own  attitude  in 
which  she  walked  thus  far,  and  stood,  planting  each  naked  foot  so  firm, 
to  crush  the  snake  and  spare  the  worm  —  at  first  sight  of  her  eyes,  I  said, 
"lam  that  man  upon  whose  head  they  fix  the  price,  because  I  hate  the 


FAULTS    OF   EMPHASIS.  243 

Austrians  over  us :  the  State  will  give  you  gold  —  oh,  gold  so  much !  —  if 
you  betray  me  to  their  clutch,  and  be  your  death,  for  aught  I  know,  if 
once  they  find  you  saved  their  foe.  Now,  you  must  bring  me  food  and 
drink,  and  also  paper,  pen  and  ink,  and  carry  safe  what  I  shall  write  to 
Padua,  which  you'll  reach  at  night  before  tbe  duomo  shuts;  go  in,  and 
wait  till  Tenebrae  begin;  walk  to  the  third  confessional,  between  the 
pillar  and  the  wall,  and  kneeling  whisper,  '  Whence  comes  peace  ? '  Say 
it  a  second  time,  then  cease;  and  if  the  voice  inside  returns,  'From 
Christ  and  Freedom;  what  concerns  the  cause  of  Peace? '  — for  answer, 
slip  my  letter  where  you  placed  your  lip ;  then  come  back  happy  we  have 
done  our  mother  service  —  I,  the  son,  as  you  the  daughter  of  our  land! " 

Three  mornings  more,  she  took  her  stand  in  the  same  place,  with  the 
same  eyes :  I  was  no  surer  of  sunrise  than  of  her  coming.  We  conferred 
of  her  own  prospects,  and  I  heard  she  had  a  lover — stout  and  tall,  she 
said  —  then  let  her  eyelids  fall,  "  He  could  do  much  "  —  as  if  some  doubt 
entered  her  heart,  —  then,  passing  out,  "  she  could  not  speak  for  others, 
who  had  other  thoughts;  herself  she  knew; "  and  so  she  brought  me  drink 
and  food.  After  four  days,  the  scouts  pursued  another  path;  at  last 
arrived  the  help  my  Paduan  friends  contrived  to  furnish  me :  she  brought 
the  news.  For  the  first  time  I  could  not  choose  but  kiss  her  hand,  and 
lay  my  own  upon  her  head  —  "  This  faith  was  shown  to  Italy,  our  mother ; 
she  uses  my  hand  and  blesses  thee."  She  followed  down  to  the  sea-shore; 
I  left  and  never  saw  her  more. 

How  very  long  since  I  have  thought  concerning  —  much  less  wished 
for  —  aught  beside  the  good  of  Italy,  for  which  I  live  and  mean  to  die!  I 
never  was  in  love ;  and  since  Charles  proved  false,  what  shall  now  con- 
vince my  inmost  heart  I  have  a  friend?  However,  if  I  pleased  to  spend 
real  wishes  on  myself — say,  three  —  I  know  at  least  what  one  should  be. 
I  would  grasp  Metternich  until  I  felt  his  red  wet  throat  distil  in  blood 
thro'  these  two  hands.  And  next,  —  nor  much  for  that  am  I  perplexed 
—  Charles,  perjured  traitor,  for  his  part,  should  die  slow  of  a  broken 
heart  under  his  new  employers.  Last  —  ah,  there,  what  should  I  wish? 
For  fast  do  I  grow  old  and  out  of  strength.  If  I  resolved  to  seek  at  length 
my  father's  house  again,  and  scared  they  all  would  look,  and  unprepared! 
My  brothers  live  in  Austria's  pay  —  disowned  me  long  ago,  men  say ;  and 
all  my  early  mates  who  used  to  praise  me  so  —  perhaps  induced  more 
than  one  early  step  of  mine — are  turning  wise :  while  some  opine  "  Free- 
dom grows  license,"  some  suspect  "Haste  breeds  delay,"  and  recollect 
they  always  said,  such  premature  beginnings  never  could  endure!  So, 
with  a  sullen  "  All's  for  best,"  the  land  seems  settling  to  its  rest.  I  think 


244  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

then,  I  should  wish  to  stand  this  evening  in  that  dear,  lost  land,  over  the 
sea  the  thousand  miles,  and  know  if  yet  that  woman  smiles  with  the  calm 
smile;  some  little  farm  she  lives  in  there,  no  doubt:  what  harm  if  I  sat 
on  the  door-side  bench,  and,  while  her  spindle  made  a  trench  fantastically 
in  the  dust,  inquired  of  all  her  fortunes — just  her  children's  ages  and 
their  names,  and  what  may  be  the  husband's  aims  for  each  of  them.  I'd 
talk  this  out,  and  sit  there,  for  an  hour  about,  then  kiss  her  hand  once 
more,  and  lay  mine  on  her  head,  and  go  my  way. 

So  much  for  idle  wishing  —  how  it  steals  the  time !  To  business  now. 

Browning. 

XXXVIIL    DEVELOPMENT  OF  METHOD. 

rpHE  penetrative  logical  or  methodic  action  of  the  mind  is  an 
■*-  element  in  all  expression.  It  is  both  conscious  and  uncon- 
scious. It  is  not  only  a  characteristic  of  reason  but  of  instinct. 
Method  is  simply  the  mode  of  action  or  the  natural  sequence  of 
ideas  in  the  human  mind.  It  belongs  to  ah  thinking.  It  is  a 
characteristic  not  only  of  oratory  but  of  all  poetry,  of  all  dra- 
matic composition,  of  all  stories,  of  all  literature. 

Chaotic  action  of  the  mind  in  reading  and  speaking  is  very 
common  and  takes  many  forms.  One  violation  of  true  logical 
action,  in  Vocal  Expression,  consists  in  confused  wandering  off 
upon  tangents  during  the  calling  of  words,  with  occasional 
images,  but  without  a  definite  sequence  of  thought.  Reading 
may  be  only  the  repeating  of  words,  or  the  giving  of  each  idea 
without  any  relation  to  other  ideas. 

Natural  and  effective  speaking  and  reading  is  primarily  de- 
pendent upon  the  logical  sequence  of  the  mind  in  thinking. 
The  conceptions  must  succeed  each  other  according  to  the  law 
of  association  of  ideas,  and  must  dominate  the  feeling  and  the 
act  of  expression. 

The  development  of  this  power  is  very  important.  All  the 
steps  so  far  taken  are  intended  for  the  development  of  the  method 
of  the  mind.  The  orderly  sequence  of  ideas,  the  relation  of 
ideas  to  each  other,  and  the  relation  of  this  to  conversation,  is  a 
practical  study  of  a  most  important  phase  of  logic. 


DEVELOPMENT   OF   METHOD.  245 

Logical  method  cannot  be  developed,  however,  by  mere 
analysis ;  it  must  be  developed  practically  by  speaking  upon  the 
feet,  by  conversation,  and  by  the  simple  and  natural  rendering 
of  the  best  literature. 

There  are  many  exercises  which  furnish  simple  and  effective 
means  of  practically  developing  the  logical  actions  of  the  mind 
in  relation  to  expression.  Logical  method  is  primarily  an  in- 
stinct, and  must  be  trained  in  connection  with  the  presentation 
of  thoughts  to  other  minds.  Hence  there  should  be  long  con- 
tinued practice  and  strict  discipline  in  logical  conversation  or 
discussion  and  various  kinds  of  speaking. 

Aside  from  the  steps  already  given,  a  few  problems  may  be 
enumerated  for  the  development  of  this  action  of  the  mind. 

Problem  LXXV.  Tell  some  simple  story  in  as  few  words  as 
possible,  with  the  events  arranged  in  a  natural  order. 

Problem  LXXVI.  Give,  after  careful  observation,  an  adequate 
but  simple  and  brief  description  of  some  object  or  scene,  some  his- 
torical building,  or  battle-field. 

Problem  LXXV1I.  Visit  some  great  picture  or  work  of  art, 
study  it  contemplatively  and  sympathetically,  and  suggest  in  a  few 
words  its  meaning  and  its  spirit. 

Problem  LXXVIII.  Give  the  argument  of  some  great  poem 
as  definitely  and  adequately  as  possible,  but  in  a  few  words. 

Problem  LXXIX.  Give  the  argument  of  a  Greek  play,  or  that 
of  some  strong  drama,  retaining  as  much  as  possible  its  dramatic 
spirit  and  movement. 

Problem  LXXX.  State  the  arguments  on  both  sides  of  some 
vital  question  of  the  day. 

Problem  LXXXI.  State  the  arguments  and  their  order  in  JEs- 
chines'  oration  against  Ktestiphon,  and  those  which  Demosthenes 
used  in  his  defense"  in  his  great  Oration  on  the  Crown. 

Problem  LXXXII.  Debate  with  another,  stating  definitely  but 
courteously  every  argument.  Be  sure  to  recognize  and  state  with 
their  true  force  the  arguments  of  an  opponent. 


246  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

Such  exercises  as  these  will  test  and  train  the  insight  of  a 
student  into  fundamentals  and  cultivate  his  power  of  observa- 
tion. They  will  also  test  his  ability  to  awaken  interest  in  other 
minds.  They  will  also  reveal  the  student's  mind  more  clearly 
to  the  teacher  and  to  himself,  and  steps  can  be  taken  to  improve 
any  weak  action.  They  also  develop  self-possession  and  power 
to  think  upon  his  feet.  Such  methods  test  the  range  of  the 
reading  of  the  student.  They  bring  him  into  close  contact  with 
the  greatest  and  best  thoughts  of  his  race. 

There  is  no  need  to  speak  of  the  mental  discipline  to  be  ac- 
quired from  such  work  as  this,  or  of  its  aid  in  the  study  of  litera- 
ture. Much  of  the  study  of  literature  is  too  mechanical  and 
artificial,  and  tends  merely  to  be  philological.  This  method  will 
lead  to  deeper  participation  in  the  fundamental  spirit,  and  secure 
a  broader  comprehension  and  appreciation  of  a  poem  or  work 
of  literary  art.  A  student  by  this  means  may  be  led  to  a  prac- 
tical study  of  the  literature  of  all  times ;  he  may  be  given  a 
drama  of  the  Greeks,  or  some  book  in  French  or  German.  The 
teacher  of  elocution  may  also  in  this  case  use  the  studies  the 
student  is  pursuing  with  other  teachers.  The  teacher  of  ex- 
pression will  strive  to  study  the  minds  of  students  in  expressing 
those  things  in  which  they  are  most  interested.  For  this  reason, 
he  needs  often  to  seek  advice  from  teachers  in  other  depart- 
ments, to  find  the  real  needs  of  students ;  and  if  he  has  done  his 
duty,  he  may  also  be  able  in  turn  to  give  counsel  of  great 
value  to  other  teachers. 

The  subjects  for  discussion  can  be  taken  from  a  great  many 
sources.  Students  should  often  be  left  to  select  for  themselves. 
As  in  most  colleges  they  do  not  have  a  great  deal  of  time  to 
prepare  for  Vocal  Expression  and  speaking,  it  is  important  that 
they  should  speak  upon  something  in  which  they  are  most  inter- 
ested. The  teacher's  business  is  to  criticise,  to  give  the  student 
practice,  and  to  see  that  his  ideas  have  logical  sequence  and  that 
he  is  thinking  upon  his  feet. 


DEVELOPMENT   OP   METHOD.  247 

Nothing,  however,  in  the  development  of  the  penetrative 
action  of  the  mind  in  Vocal  Expression  can  take  the  place  of  the 
thorough  study  of  the  best  authors.  There  must  not  only  be  a 
study  of  the  process  of  the  thought  in  all  f  onus  of  literature,  but 
there  must  be  a  practical  interpretation  of  this  thought  in  the 
author's  own  words  through  Vocal  Expression. 

The  student  may  also  be  led  by  this  means  to  study  an  author 
who  will  be  essentially  helpful  to  him.  An  author  can  be  se- 
lected who  is  strong  where  the  student  is  weak.  By  an  earnest 
endeavor  to  give  the  thought  of  such  an  author,  to  express  the 
process  of  his  mind,  his  manner  will  be  more  or  less  uncon- 
sciously assimilated,  and  the  weaknesses  corrected. 

Problem  LXXXII1.  Study  the  method  of  different  authors,  the 
logical  sequence  of  their  ideas,  and  their  selection  of  the  right 
words  to  express  these  ideas,  and  interpret  the  spirit  of  each  author 
truthfully  in  vocal  expression. 


302.    JOHN  HAMPDEN. 

In  Hampden,  and  in  Hampden  alone,  were  united  all  the  qualities 
which  at  such  a  crisis  were  necessary  to  save  the  state  —  the  valor  and 
energy  of  Cromwell,  the  discernment  and  eloquence  of  Vane,  the  humanity 
and  moderation  of  Manchester,  the  stern  integrity  of  Hale,  the  ardent 
public  spirit  of  Sydney. 

Others  might  possess  all  the  qualities  which  were  necessary  to  save  the 
popular  party  in  the  crisis  of  danger;  Hampden  alone  had  both  the  power 
and  the  inclination  to  restrain  its  excesses  in  the  hour  of  triumph.  Others 
could  conquer;  he  alone  could  reconcile.  A  heart  as  bold  as  his  brought 
up  the  cuirassiers  who  turned  the  tide  of  battle  on  Marston  Moor.  As 
skilful  an  eye  as  his  watched  the  Scotch  army  descending  from  the 
heights  over  Dunbar.  But  it  was  when  to  the  sullen  tyranny  of  Laud  and 
Charles  had  succeeded  the  fierce  conflict  of  sects  and  factions,  ambitious 
of  ascendency  and  burning  for  revenge,  it  was  when  the  vices  and  the 
ignorance  which  the  old  tyranny  had  generated  had  threatened  the  new 
freedom  with  destruction,  that  England  missed  the  sobriety,  the  self- 
command,  the  perfect  soundness  of  judgment,  the  perfect  rectitude  of  in- 
tention to  which  the  history  of  revolutions  furnishes  no  parallel,  or 
furnishes  a  parallel  in  Washington  alone.  Macaulay. 


248  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

303.    EFFECT  OF  DISTANCE. 

Are  not  all  natural  things,  it  may  be  asked,  as  lovely  near  as  far  away? 
By  no  means.  Look  at  the  clouds  and  watch  the  delicate  sculpture  of 
their  alabaster  sides,  and  the  rounded  lustre  of  their  magnificent  rolling. 
They  are  meant  to  be  beheld  far  away :  they  are  shaped  for  their  place 
high  above  your  nead :  approach  them  and  they  diffuse  into  vague  mists, 
or  whirl  away  in  fierce  fragments  of  thunderous  vapor.  Look  at  the  crest 
of  the  Alp  from  the  far-away  plains  over  which  its  light  is  cast,  whence 
human  souls  have  communed  with  it  by  myriads.  It  was  built  for  its 
place  in  the  far-off  sky :  approach  it,  and  as  the  sound  of  the  voice  of  man 
dies  away  about  its  foundations,  and  the  tide  of  human  life  is  met  at  last 
by  the  eternal  "  Here  shall  thy  proud  waves  be  stayed,"  the  glory  of  its 
aspect  fades  into  blanched  f earf ulness ;  its  purple  walls  are  rent  into  grisly 
rocks,  its  silver  fretwork  saddened  into  wasting  snow;  the  stormbrands  of 
ages  are  on  its  breast,  the  ashes  of  its  own  ruin  lie  solemnly  on  its  white 
raiment. 

If  you  desire  to  perceive  the  great  harmonies  of  the  form  of  a  rocky 
mountain,  you  must  not  ascend  upon  its  sides.  All  there  is  disorder  and 
accident,  or  seems  so.  Eetire  from  it,  and  as  your  eye  commands  it  more 
and  more,  you  see  the  ruined  mountain  world  with  a  wider  glance ;  be- 
hold! dim  sympathies  begin  to  busy  themselves  in  the  disjointed  mass: 
line  binds  itself  into  stealthy  fellowship  with  line :  group  by  group  the 
helpless  fragments  gather  themselves  into  ordered  companies:  new  cap- 
tains of  hosts,  and  masses  of  battalions,  become  visible  one  by  one ;  and 
far-away  answers  of  foot  to  foot  and  bone  to  bone,  until  the  powerless  is 
seen  risen  up  with  girded  loins,  and  not  one  piece  of  all  the  unregarded 
heap  can  now  be  spared  from  the  mystic  whole.  Ruskin. 


304  He  faced  his  audience  with  a  tranquil  mien,  and  a  beaming  aspect 
that  was  never  dimmed.  He  spoke,  and  in  the  measured  cadence  of  his 
quiet  voice  there  was  intense  feeling,  but  no  declamation,  no  passionate 
appeal,  no  superficial  and  feigned  emotion.  It  was  simple  colloquy  —  a 
gentleman  conversing.  How  was  it  done?  Ah !  how  did  Mozart  do  it — 
how  Kaphael?  The  secret  of  the  rose's  sweetness,  of  the  bird's  ecstacy, 
of  the  sunset's  glory  —  that  is  the  secret  of  genius  and  eloquence.  What 
was  heard,  what  was  seen,  was  the  form  of  noble  manhood,  the  courteous 
and  self-possessed  tone,  the  flow  of  modulated  speech,  sparkling  with 
matchless  richness  of  illustration,  with  apt  allusion,  and  happy  anecdote, 
and  historic  parallel,  with  wit  and  pitiless  invective,  with  melodious 
pathos,  with  stinging  satire,  with  crackling  epigram,  and  limpid  humor, 


CLEARNESS.  249 

like  the  bright  ripples  that  play  around  the  sure  and  steady  prow  of  the 
resistless  ship.  Like  an  illuminated  vase  of  odors,  he  glowed  with  con- 
centrated and  perfumed  fire.  The  divine  energy  of  his  conviction  utterly 
possessed  him,  and  his 

"  Pure  and  eloquent  blood 
Spoke  in  his  cheek,  and  so  distinctly  wrought, 
That  one  might  almost  say  his  body  thought." 

Was  it  Pericles  swaying  the  Athenian  multitude?  Was  it  Apollo  breath- 
ing the  music  of  the  morning  from  his  lips?  It  was  an  American  patriot, 
a  modern  son  of  liberty,  with  a  soul  as  firm  and  as  true  as  was  ever  con- 
secrated to  unselfish  duty,  pleading  with  the  American  conscience  for  the 
chained  and  speechless  victims  of  American  inhumanity. 

"  Wendell  Phillips."  Curtis. 


XXXIX.    CLEARNESS, 

rpHE  cause  of  language  and  expression  is  the  desire  to  com- 
-*-  municate  with  other  minds.  Hence,  the  essential  requisite 
of  all  writing,  speaking,  or  reading  is  that  everything  shall  be 
clear.  Delivery  aims  to  make  people  hear,  understand,  and 
feel.  The  clear  comprehension  of  meaning  lies  at  the  founda- 
tion of  all  expression.  Without  this  there  can  be  no  true  feeling 
or  adequate  thought. 

Clearness  in  Vocal  Expression,  aside  from  the  mechanical 
elements  of  articulation  and  the  right  qualities  of  voice,  is  de- 
pendent chiefly  upon  the  saliency  of  the  central  words  and  the 
subordination  of  adjunctive  words  or  phrases.  There  must  be 
such  a  variety  of  inflections  and  changes  of  pitch,  emphasis,  and 
subordination,  that  the  logical  sequence  of  the  thought  shall  be 
clearly  shown.  All  ideas  must  be  brought  into  right  relation- 
ship with  each  other.  There  must  be  a  simple  and  definite  pro- 
gression from  idea  to  idea.  One  idea  must  be  introduced  at  a 
time,  however  complex  its  relations  as  an  object  of  specific  at- 
tention. Every  antithesis,  comparison,  or  logical  sequence  of 
ideas  must  be  made  definitely  manifest  through  the  voice.  All 
the  elements  of  Vocal  Expression,  all  modulations  of  the  voice, 
must  have  direct  relationship  to  the  process  of  thinking. 


250  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

There  are  many  causes  of  a  lack  of  clearness.  Emphasis  of 
too  many  words,  a  lack  of  emphasis,  and  a  lack  of  subordination 
are  among  the  most  common. 

In  general,  clearness  in  Vocal  Expression  is  dependent  upon 
clearness  of  thinking  and  the  enlarged  and  clear  accentuation  of 
the  processes  of  thought  and  its  direct  domination  of  the  modu- 
lations of  the  voice.  An  idea  may  be  clear  to  the  speaker ;  but 
on  account  of  the  failure  to  think  slowly  and  to  modulate  his 
voice  according  to  his  thought,  he  may  confuse  the  minds  of  his 
hearers. 

Problem  LXXXIV.  Take  a  passage  which  is  full  of  depth  and 
subtlety  of  thought,  and  by  definite  thinking  and  emphasis  mak» 
it  clear  to  another  mind.  

305.    THE  FUNCTION  OF  AET. 
Our  human  speech  is  naught, 
Our  human  testimony  false,  our  fame 
And  human  estimation  words  and  wind. 
Why  take  the  artistic  way  to  prove  so  much? 
Because,  it  is  the  glory  and  good  of  Art, 
That  Art  remains  the  one  way  possible 
Of  speaking  truth,  to  mouths  like  mine,  at  least. 
How  look  a  brother  in  the  face  and  say 
"  Thy  right  is  wrong,  eyes  hast  thou,  yet  art  blind, 
Thine  ears  are  stuffed  and  stopped,  despite  their  length, 
And,  oh,  the  foolishness  thou  countest  faith! " 
Say  this  as  silvery  as  tongue  can  troll  — 
The  anger  of  the  man  may  be  endured, 
The  shrug,  the  disappointed  eyes  of  him 
Are  not  so  bad  to  bear — but  here's  the  plague, 
That  all  this  trouble  comes  of  telling  truth, 
Which  truth,  by  when  it  reaches  him,  looks  false, 
Seems  to  be  just  the  thing  it  would  supplant, 
Nor  recognizable  by  whom  it  left; 
While  falsehood  would  have  done  the  work  of  truth. 
But  Art,  —  wherein  man  nowise  speaks  to  men, 
Only  to  mankind,  —  Art  may  tell  a  truth 
Obliquely,  do  the  thing  shall  breed  the  thought, 


CLEARNESS.  251 

Nor  wrong  the  thought,  missing  the  mediate  word. 

So  may  you  paint  your  picture,  twice  show  truth, 

Beyond  mere  imagery  on  the  wall,  — 

So,  note  by  note,  bring  music  from  your  mind, 

Deeper  than  ever  the  Adante  dived,  — 

So  write  a  book  shall  mean,  beyond  the  facts, 

Suffice  the  eye,  and  save  the  soul  besides. 
"The  Ring  and  the  Book."  Browning. 

306  Just  in  proportion  as  the  writer's  aim,  consciously  or  uncon- 
sciously, comes  to  be  the  transcribing,  not  of  the  world,  not  of  mere  fact, 
but  of  his  sense  of  it,  he  becomes  an  artist,  his  workjtne  art;  and  good 
art  in  proportion  to  the  truth  of  his  presentment  of  that  sense.  Truth  I 
there  can  be  no  merit,  no  craft  at  all,  without  that.  And  further,  all 
beauty  is  in  the  long  run  only  fineness  of  truth,  or  what  we  call  expres- 
sion, the  finer  accommodation  of  speech  to  that  vision  within. 

Walter  Pater. 

307.    NATUEAL  SUPERNATURALISM. 

Sweep  away  the  illusion  of  Time ;  glance,  if  thou  have  eyes,  from  the 
near  moving-cause  to  its  far-distant  Mover:  The  stroke  that  came  trans- 
mitted through  a  whole  galaxy  of  elastic  balls,  was  it  less  a  stroke  than 
if  the  last  ball  only  had  been  struck,  and  sent  flying?  O,  could  I  trans- 
port thee  direct  from  the  Beginnings  to  the  Endings,  how  were  thy  eye- 
sight unsealed,  and  thy  heart  set  flaming  in  the  Light-sea  of  celestial 
wonder!  Then  sawest  thou  that  this  fair  Universe,  were  it  in  the  meanest 
province  thereof,  is  in  very  deed  the  star-domed  City  of  God ;  that  through 
every  star,  through  every  grass-blade,  and  most  through  every  Living 
Soul,  the  glory  of  a  present  God  still  beams.  But  Nature,  which  is  the 
Time-vesture  of  God,  and  reveals  Him  to  the  wise,  hides  Him  from  the 
foolish. 

Again,  could  anything  be  more  miraculous  than  an  actual  authentic 
Ghost?  The  English  Johnson  longed,  all  his  life,  to  see  one ;  but  could 
not,  though  he  went  to  Cock  Lane,  and  thence  to  the  church-vaults,  and 
tapped  on  coffins.  Foolish  Doctor!  Did  he  never,  with  the  mind's  eye 
as  well  as  with  the  body's,  look  round  him  into  that  full  tide  of  human 
Life  he  so  loved ;  did  he  never  so  much  as  look  into  Himself?  The  good 
Doctor  was  a  Ghost,  as  actual  and  as  authentic  as  heart  could  wish ;  well- 
nigh  a  million  of  Ghosts  were  travelling  the  streets  by  his  side.  Once 
more  I  say,  sweep  away  the  illusion  of  Time ;  compress  the  threescore 
years  into  three  minutes:  what  else  was  he,  what  else  are  we?  Are  we 
not  Spirits,  that  are  shaped  into  a  body,  into  an  Appearance ;  and  that 


252  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

fade  away  again  into  Air  and  Invisibility?  This  is  no  metaphor,  it  is  a 
simple  scientific  fact :  we  start  out  of  Nothingness,  take  figure,  and  are 
Apparitions ;  round  us,  as  round  the  veriest  spectre,  is  Eternity ;  and  to 
Eternity  minutes  are  as  years  and  seons.  Come  there  not  tones  of  Love 
and  Faith,  as  from  celestial  harp-strings,  like  the  Song  of  beatified  Souls? 
And  again,  do  not  we  squeak  and  gibber;  and  glide  bodeful,  and  feeble, 
and  fearful;  or  uproar,  and  revel  in  our  mad  Dance  of  the  Dead,  — till 
the  scent  of  the  morning  air  summons  us  to  our  still  Home;  and  dreamy 
Night  becomes  awake  and  Day?  Where  now  is  Alexander  of  Macedon: 
does  the  Steel  Host,  that  yelled  in  fierce  battle-shouts  at  Issus  and  Arbela, 
remain  behind  him;  or  have  they  all  vanished  utterly,  even  as  perturbed 
Goblins  must?  Napoleon  too,  and  his  Moscow  Retreats  and  Austerlitz 
Campaigns !  Was  it  all  other  than  the  veriest  Spectre-hunt ;  which  has 
now,  with  its  howling  tumult  that  made  Night  hideous,  flitted  away?  — 
Ghosts !  There  are  nigh  a  thousand-million  walking  the  Earth  openly  at 
noontide;  some  half-hundred  have  vanished  from  it,  some  half -hundred 
have  arisen  in  it,  ere  thy  watch  ticks  once. 

O  Heaven,  it  is  mysterious,  it  is  awful  to  consider  that  we  not  only 
carry  each  a  future  Ghost  within  him ;  but  are,  in  very  deed,  Ghosts ! 
These  Limbs,  whence  had  we  them;  this  stormy  Force;  this  life-blood 
with  its  burning  Passion?  They  are  dust  and  shadow;  a  Shadow-system 
gathered  round  our  Me;  wherein,  through  some  moments  or  years,  the 
Divine  Essence  is  to  be  revealed  in  the  Flesh.  That  warrior  on  his  strong 
war-horse,  fire  flashes  through  his  eyes;  force  dwells  in  his  arm  and  heart: 
but  warrior  and  war-horse  are  a  vision;  a  revealed  Force,  nothing  more. 
Stately  they  tread  the  Earth,  as  if  it  were  a  firm  substance:  fool!  the 
Earth  is  but  a  film;  it  cracks  in  twain,  and  warrior  and  war-horse  sink 
beyond  plummet's  sounding.  Plummet's?  Fantasy  herself  will  not  follow 
them.  A  little  while  ago,  they  were  not;  a  little  while,  and  they  are  not, 
their  very  ashes  are  not. 

So  has  it  been  from  the  beginning,  so  will  it  be  to  the  end.  Generation 
after  generation  takes  to  itself  the  Form  of  a  Body ;  and  forth-issuing 
from  Cimmerian  Night,  on  Heaven's  mission  APPEARS.  What  Force 
and  Fire  is  in  each  he  expends:  one  grinding  in  the  mill  of  Industry;  one 
hunter-like  climbing  the  giddy  Alpine  heights  of  Science;  one  madly 
dashed  in  pieces  on  the  rocks  of  Strife,  in  war  with  his  fellow:  —  and 
then  the  Heaven-sent  is  recalled;  his  earthly  vesture  falls  away,  and  soon 
even  to  Sense  becomes  a  vanished  Shadow.  Thus,  like  some  wild-flaming^ 
wild-thundering  train  of  Heaven's  Artillery,  does  this  mysterious  MAN- 
KIND thunder  and  flame,  in  long-drawn,  quick-succeeding  grande?ir, 


EARNESTNESS.  253 

through  the  unknown  Deep.  Thus,  like  a  God-created,  fire-breathing 
Spirit-host,  we  emerge  from  the  Inane ;  haste  stormf ully  across  the  aston- 
ished Earth;  then  plunge  again  into  the  Inane.  Earth's  mountains  are 
levelled,  and  her  seas  filled  up,  in  our  passage :  can  the  Earth,  which  is 
but  dead  and  a  vision,  resist  Spirits  which  have  reality  and  are  alive?  On 
the  hardest  adamant  some  footprint  of  us  is  stamped-in ;  the  last  Eear  of 
the  host  will  read  traces  of  the  earliest  Van.  But  whence?  O  Heaven, 
whither?  Sense  knows  not;  Faith  knows  not;  only  that  it  is  through 
Mystery  to  Mystery,  from  God  and  to  God. 

"  We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  of,  and  our  little  Life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep."  Carlylc 


XL.    EARNESTNESS. 

rTIHE  word  '  earnestness '  comes  from  a  root  meaning  to 
'  excite.'  It  means  an  eager  desire  of  the  heart  for  the 
cause  of  truth  ;  the  deep  longing  that  other  men  shall  accept  a 
truth  which  is  realized  by  the  speaker.  The  earnest  man  feels 
so  intensely  the  importance  of  a  truth  that  he  longs  to  share  it 
with  his  race. 

Earnestness  is  the  secret  of  success  in  any  department  of  life. 
It  is  only  the  earnest  man  who  wins  his  cause.  The  indifferent 
or  passive  waiting  for  things  to  happen,  failure  to  realize  the  deep 
importance  of  truth  or  to  have  conviction,  are  marks  of  a  man 
who  has  no  power  over  his  fellow  men. 

The  vivid  conception,  the  intense  realization  of  truth,  awakens 
the  impulse  to  express.  Noble  expression  is  the  manifestation  of 
the  whole  man.  Its  fundamental  condition  must  be  that  all  the 
faculties  and  powers  be  awake ;  hence,  earnestness  of  thought 
lies  at  the  basis  of  all  naturalness  and  power. 

In  all  speaking  earnestness  is  essential,  because  expression  is 
the  conveying  of  a  truth,  and  if  a  truth  is  conveyed  without  any 
desire  to  have  it  accepted,  it  becomes  insipid  and  lifeless.  One 
who  sees  and  realizes  a  truth  has  an  earnest  desire  that  others 
shall  realize  it.     Earnestness  in  life  and  art  is  the  desire  for 


254  VOCAL  EXPRESSION, 

achievement,  it  is  the  longing  to  accomplish  something  better, 
to  actualize  something  ideal. 

Earnestness  can  be  developed.  One  step  for  its  improvement 
is  meditation ;  he  who  meditates  or  holds  an  idea  or  truth  before 
the  mind  awakens  every  faculty.  The  whole  nature  responds  so 
that  he  speaks  with  life  and  power.  It  is  only  by  continuous 
dwelling  upon  ideas  that  we  feel  their  importance.  Earnestness 
implies  that  there  is  an  ideal  as  well  as  an  actual,  that  there  are 
possibilities  to  be  attained.  Meditation  over  an  ideal,  or  a  com- 
parison of  the  ideal  with  the  actual,  awakens  a  desire  to  modify 
and  transform  the  actual. 

Earnestness  is  important  in  all  speaking,  because  it  implies 
purpose.  It  is  the  yearning  desire  to  accomplish  a  purpose. 
Animation  results  from  an  intense  realization  of  an  idea  for  its 
own  sake ;  earnestness  adds  to  this  the  realization  of  a  purpose 
or  desire  to  express  so  as  to  sway  the  hearts  of  men. 

All  speaking  is  in  time ;  earnestness  gives  the  rhythmic  pulsa- 
tions to  mind  and  voice,  and  thus  develoj)s  movement,  —  the 
highest  characteristic  of  art. 

Every  noble  speaker  must  have  a  cause :  he  may  desire  to 
teach  or  to  rouse  men ;  he  may  desire  simply  to  cause  them  to 
realize  a  truth,  to  persuade  them.  His  appeal  may  be  to  some 
special  part  of  man's  nature,  to  his  head  or  to  his  heart,  to  intel- 
lect, emotion,  or  will.  Sometimes  it  is  to  all  of  these.  Earnest- 
ness is  that  intense  and  instinctive  reaching  out  for  the  part  in 
the  nature  of  another  man  which  is  awake  in  our  own. 

All  expression  is  dependent  upon  awakening  the  same  faculty 
in  another  man  which  is  active  in  ourselves.  Expression  cannot 
give  a  truth ;  it  only  draws  it  out.  Expression  shows  the  action 
of  a  faculty  or  set  of  faculties  in  one  man  to  another  in  such  a 
way  as  to  awaken  the  same  faculties  or  powers  in  another  soul. 
Earnestness  is  thus  the  secret  of  magnetism. 

The  opposite  of  earnestness  is  indifference.  An  indifferent 
man  cares  no  more  for  one  thing  than  for  another.     All  things 


EARNESTNESS.  255 

to  him  are  the  same ;  he  does  not  care  whether  men  around  him 
are  better  or  worse. 

Earnestness  has  been  called  the  moral  quality  of  art,  because 
it  corresponds  to  sincerity  and  nobleness.  An  earnest  man 
means  what  he  says  and  says  what  he  means.  He  so  realizes  a 
truth  that  he  sacrifices  himself  and  his  manner  for  a  cause. 

There  is  a  tendency  at  the  present  time,  and  there  always  has 
been,  for  culture  to  end  in  indifference.  A  cultivated  man  tends 
to  separate  himself  from  the  world,  to  look  on  merely  as  a  spec- 
tator, and  to  take  an  interest  in  things  merely  from  the  outside. 
He  has  no  pity  for  the  unfortunate,  no  great  desire  for  the  amel- 
ioration of  the  race.  There  is  also  a  tendency  to  regard  all  art 
as  having  an  element  of  moral  indifference,  as  having  nothing  to 
do  with  right  or  wrong.  Art  must  be  for  Art's  sake ;  its  highest 
aim  is  simply  beauty.  Whatever  is  pleasing  is  the  fundamental 
law  of  right  art. 

This  is  not  wholly  true.  Art  deals  with  the  ideal,  and  in 
pleasing,  man  seeks  to  please  with  what  is  highest.  It  makes  a 
distinction  between  what  is  low  and  what  is  high,  because  that 
which  pleases  merely  the  physical  is  not  artistic.  That  which 
appeals  to  the  imagination  and  the  higher  faculties  of  men  is  the 
more  artistic.    Art  is  thus  concerned  with  the  aspirations  of  men. 

There  are  other  opposites  to  earnestness  besides  indifference. 
Doubt  of  any  kind,  uncertainty  as  to  the  thought  or  to  the  truth, 
a  lack  of  conviction,  all  these  tend  to  destroy  earnestness.  Ear- 
nestness implies  a  simple  attitude  of  soul  towards  truth ;  it  implies 
loyalty,  truthfulness,  sincerity ;  it  implies  the  giving  of  the  man's 
whole  nature  for  truth ;  it  implies  the  willingness  to  suffer  for 
the  cause  of  truth. 

There  are  many  misconceptions  of  earnestness.  Some  regard 
all  earnestness  as  merely  synonymous  with  loudness  or  violence, 
an  exaggerated  use  of  gestures,  or  an  extravagant  amount  of  force. 

It  is  very  important  to  distinguish  between  muscular  earnest- 
ness and  mental  earnestness.     An  earnestness  which  is  merely 


256  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

assumed,  which  merely  aggregates  outward  extravagant  actions, 
which  tries  to  show  signs  of  energy, — this  is  not  the  true  earnest- 
ness.   All  true  earnestness  must  be  in  the  man. 


308  What  the  poet  has  to  cultivate  above  all  things  is  love  and 
truth ;  —  what  he  has  to  avoid,  like  poison,  is  the  fleeting  and  the  false. 
He  will  get  no  good  by  proposing  to  be  in  earnest  at  the  moment.  His 
earnestness  must  be  innate  and  habitual ;  born  with  him,  and  felt  to  be 
his  most  precious  inheritance.  Leigh  Hunt. 

True  earnestness  is  not  manifested  by  loudness,  not  shown  by 
rant,  not  revealed  by  noise.  It  is  shown  by  the  development  of 
the  intensity  of  touch,  the  changes  of  pitch  and  the  inflections, 
or  the  range  of  the  voice. 

Hence,  in  the  development  of  emphasis,  we  must  give  atten- 
tion to  the  nature  of  true  earnestness.  Professor  Monroe  once 
said,  "  Earnestness  covers  a  multitude  of  elocutionary  sins."  It 
does  not  so  much  cover  them,  however,  as  it  prevents  them. 

There  are  certain  faults  of  emjmasis,  such  as  declamation  and 
rant,  which  are  due  to  a  perversion  or  a  misconception  of  earnest- 
ness. In  declamation  the  earnestness  is  assumed,  or  at  any  rate, 
there  is  a  desire  to  make  the  earnestness  visible.  Genuine  ear- 
nestness does  not  waste  itself  or  its  energy  in  trying  to  show  it- 
self to  others.  Genuine  earnestness  unites  thought  and  feeling:; 
the  whole  man  is  harmoniously  aroused.  There  is,  of  course,  an 
emotional  earnestness  as  well  as  an  intellectual  earnestness,  but 
both  are  united  in  the  highest  and  most  genuine  earnestness. 

In  the  development  of  emphasis  the  student  should  practise 
those  passages  which  he  most  truly  believes  and  most  intensely 
feels.  He  should  take  a  thought  which  he  himself  firmly  believes, 
and  endeavor  to  convey  it  so  as  to  convince  other  minds  who  do 
not  realize  it. 

Earnestness  must  not  be  confounded  with  vague  impulsiveness 
or  wild  extravagance.  Genuine  earnestness  is  a  co-operative 
activity  of  the  whole  man.     Hence,  it  is  self-contained  and  re- 


EARNESTNESS.  257 

strained.  Like  all  great  energy  it  proceeds  without  great  show. 
Nor  must  earnestness  be  confounded  with  antagonism.  True 
earnestness  is  sympathetic  and  kindly  disposed  towards  all  men 
and  all  phases  of  truth. 

Problem  LXXXV.  Study  a  passage  of  noble  literature  full  of 
earnestness  and  intensity  until  its  spirit  is  fully  assimilated  and 
made  adequately  manifest  through  the  voice. 


309.    ON  HIS  BLINDNESS. 

When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent 

Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 

And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide 

Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 

To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 

My  true  account,  lest  He  returning  chide,  — 

Doth  God  exact  day-labour,  light  denied? 

I  fondly  ask:  —  But  Patience,  to  prevent 

That  murmur,  soon  replies ;  God  doth  not  need 

Either  man's  work,  or  His  own  gifts:  who  best 

Bear  His  mild  yoke,  they  serve  Him  best :  His  state 

Is  kingly ;  thousands  at  His  bidding  speed 

And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest:  — 

They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait.  Milton. 


310  Oh,  we're  sunk  enough  here,  God  knows !  But  not  quite  so  sunk 
that  moments,  sure  tho'  seldom,  are  denied  us,  when  the  spirit's  true 
endowments  stand  out  plainly  from  its  false  ones,  and  apprise  it  if  pur- 
suing or  the  right  way  or  the  wrong  way,  to  its  triumph  or  undoing. 
There  are  flashes  struck  from  midnights,  there  are  fire-flames  noondays 
kindle,  whereby  piled-up  honours  perish,  whereby  swollen  ambitions 
dwindle,  while  just  this  or  that  poor  impulse,  which  for  once  had  play 
unstifled,  seems  the  sole  work  of  a  life-time  that  away  the  rest  have  trifled. 

"Cristitia."  Browning. 

311  Let  our  object  be  our  country,  our  whole  country,  and  nothing 
but  our  country.  And,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  may  that  country  itself 
become  a  vast  and  splendid  monument,  not  of  oppression  ana  terror,  but 
of  wisdom,  of  peace,  and  of  liberty,  upon  which  the  world  may  gaze  with 
admiration  forever!  Daniel  Webster. 

17 


258  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

312  We  know  not  what  we  are,  any  more  than  what  we  shall  he.  It 
is  a  high,  solemn,  most  awful  thought  for  every  individual  man,  that  his 
earthly  influence,  which  has  had  a  commencement,  will  never  through  all 
ages,  were  he  the  very  meanest  of  us,  have  an  end !  What  is  done  is 
done;  has  already  blended  itself  with  the  boundless,  ever-living,  ever- 
working  Universe,  and  will  also  work  there  for  good  or  for  evil,  openly  or 
secretly,  throughout  all  time.        Carlyle. 

313.    THE  CASTLE  OF  CHILLON.* 

Eternal,  Spirit  of  the  chainless  Mind ! 

Brightest  in  dungeons !  Liberty,  thou  art, 

For  there  thy  habitation  is  the  heart  — 

The  heart  which  love  of  Thee  alone  can  bind; 

And  when  thy  sons  to  fetters  are  consign' d, 

To  fetters,  and  the  damp  vault's  dayless  gloom, 

Their  country  conquers  with  their  martyrdom, 

And  Freedom's  fame  finds  wings  on  every  wind. 

Chillon !  thy  prison  is  a  holy  place 

And  thy  sad  floor  an  altar,  for  'twas  trod, 

Until  his  very  steps  have  left  a  trace 

Worn  as  if  thy  cold  pavement  were  a  sod, 

By  Bonnivard !    May  none  those  marks  efface ! 

For  they  appeal  from  tyranny  to  God. 

Byron. 


314,  SHAKESPEARE  AND  GOETHE. 
This  theory  of  the  moral  indifference  of  art  originated,  I  believe, 
in  great  measure,  with  Goethe,  and  has  been  propagated  chiefly  by  his 
too  exclusive  admirers.  I  should  be  content  to  rest  the  whole  question 
on  a  comparison  of  the  moral  spirit  that  pervades  the  dramas  of  Goethe 
and  those  of  Shakespeare.  It  has  been  asserted,  I  believe  with  truth, 
that  it  was  the  existence  of  this  very  theory  in  Goethe,  or  rather  of  that 
element  in  him  whence  this  theory  was  projected,  which  shuts  him  out 
from  the  highest  place  as  a  dramatist,  and  marks  the  vast  interval  between 
him  and  Shakespeare.  Goethe's  moral  nature  was,  it  has  been  said,  of  a 
somewhat  limp  texture,  with  few  strong  "natural  admirations,"  so  that 
his  dramas  are  wanting  in  those  moral  lights  and  shadows  which  exist  in 
the  actual  world,  and  give  life  and  outline  to  the  most  manly  natures. 

*  Bonnivard,  a  Genevese,  was  imprisoned  by  the  Duke  of  Savoy  in  Chillon  for 
the  defence  of  his  country  against  the  tyranny  with  which  Piedmont  threatened 
it  during  the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth  century. 


EARNESTNESS.  259 

His  groups  of  characters  are  most  of  them  morally  feeble  and  shadowy. 
Shakespeare,  on  the  other  hand,  being  a  whole,  natural  man,  "  the  moral, 
imaginative,  and  intellectual  parts  of  him  do  not  lie  separate,"  but  move 
at  once  and  all  together.  Being  wholly  unembarrassed  with  aesthetic 
theories,  his  "poetical  impulse  and  his  moral  feelings  are  one."  He  does 
not  conceal  or  explain  away  the  great  moral  elevations  and  depressions 
that  you  see  in  the  world.  He  paints  men  and  women  as  they  are,  with 
great  moral  differences,  not  withholding  admiration  from  the  noble,  con- 
tempt and  aversion  from  the  base.  Therefore,  though  we  do  not  say  that 
he  is  faultless,  do  not  deny  that  there  are  things  in  him  we  could  wish 
away,  yet,  taken  as  a  whole,  there  breathes  from  his  works  a  natural, 
healthy,  bracing,  elevating  spirit,  not  to  be  found  in  the  works  of  Goethe. 
Every  side,  every  phase  of  human  nature  is  there  faithfully  set  down,  but 
to  the  higher  and  better  side  is  given  its  natural  predominance.  With 
the  largest  tolerance  ever  man  had  for  all  human  infirmity,  the  widest 
sympathy  with  all  men,  seeing  even  the  soul  of  good  that  may  lie  iD 
things  evil,  there  is  in  him  nothing  of  that  neutral  moral  tint,  which  is 
weakness  in  poetry  as  truly  as  in  natural  life. 

Poetry  refuses  to  be  made  over  as  the  handmaid  of  any  one  philosophy 
or  view  of  life  or  system  of  belief.  But  it  is  equally  true  that  it  naturally 
allies  itself  only  with  what  is  highest  and  best  in  human  nature ;  and  in 
whatever  philosophy  or  belief  this  is  enshrined,  thence  poetry  will  draw 
its  finest  impulses. 

"Aspects  of  Poetry."  Shairp. 

315.    TEE  BIVEB  DUDDON. 

I  thought  of  Thee,  my  partner  and  my  guide, 

As  being  past  away.  —  Vain  sympathies ! 

For,  backward,  Duddon,  as  I  cast  my  eyes, 

I  saw  what  was,  and  is,  and  will  abide ; 

Still  glides  the  Stream,  and  shall  forever  glide ; 

The  Form  remains,  the  Function  never  dies ; 

"While  we,  the  brave,  the  mighty ,  and  the  wise, 

We  Men,  who  in  our  morn  of  youth  defied 

The  elements,  must  vanish;  —  be  it  so! 

Enough,  if  something  from  our  hands  have  power 

To  live,  and  act-,  and  serve  the  future  hour ; 

And  if,  as  toward  the  silent  tomb  we  go, 

Through  love,  through  hope,  and  faith's  transcendent  dower, 

We  feel  that  we  are  greater  than  we  know. 

Wordsworth. 


260  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

316    Heab  a  word,  a  word  in  season,  for  the  day  is  drawing  nigh 
When  the  Cause  shall  call  upon  us — some  to  live,  and  some  to  die! 
He  that  dies  shall  not  die  lonely,  many  an  one  hath  gone  before, 
He  that  lives  shall  bear  no  burden  heavier  than  the  life  they  bore. 
Oft,  when  men  and  maids  are  merry,  ere  the  sunlight  leaves  the  earth, 
And  they  bless  the  day  beloved,  all  too  short  for  all  their  mirth, 
Some  shall  pause  awhile  and  ponder  on  the  bitter  days  of  old, 
Ere  the  toil  of  strife  and  battle  overthrew  the  curse  of  gold; 
Then  'twixt  lips  of  loved  and  lover  solemn  thoughts  of  us  shall  rise; 
We  who  once  were  fools  and  dreamers,  then  shall  be  the  brave  and  wise; 
Hear  a  word,  a  word  in  season,  for  the  day  is  drawing  nigh, 
When  the  Cause  shall  call  upon  us,  some  to  live  and  some  to  die ! 
%All  For  The  Cause."  Morris. 

317.    ODE  TO  THE  WEST  WIND. 

O  wild  West  Wind,  thou  breath  of  Autumn's  being, 
Thou,  from  whose  unseen  presence  the  leaves  dead 
Are  driven,  like  ghosts  from  an  enchanter  fleeing, 
Yellow,  and  black,  and  pale,  and  hectic  red, 
Pestilence-stricken  multitudes:  O  thou 
Who  chariotest  to  their  dark  wintry  bed 
The  winged  seeds,  where  they  lie  cold  and  low, 
Each  like  a  corpse  within  its  grave,  until 
Thine  azure  sister  of  the  spring  shall  blow 
Her  clarion  o'er  the  dreaming  earth,  and  fill 
(Driving  sweet  buds  like  flocks  to  feed  in  air) 
With  living  hues  and  odours  plain  and  hill: 
Wild  Spirit,  which  art  moving  everywhere; 
Destroyer  and  preserver;  Hear,  oh,  hear! 

Thou  on  whose  stream,  'mid  the  steep  sky's  commotion, 

Loose  clouds  like  earth's  decaying  leaves  are  shed, 

Shook  from  the  tangled  boughs  of  Heaven  and  Ocean, 

Angels  of  rain  and  lightning,  there  are  spread 

On  the  blue  surface  of  thine  airy  surge, 

Like  the  bright  hair  uplifted  from  the  head 

Of  some  fierce  Maenad,  ev'n  from  the  dim  verge 

Of  the  horizon  to  the  zenith's  height — 

The  locks  of  the  approaching  storm.     Thou  dirge 

Of  the  dying  year,  to  which  this  closing  night 

Will  be  the  dome  of  a  vast  sepulchre, 

Vaulted  with  all  thy  congregated  might 


EARNESTNESS.  261 

Of  vapours,  from  whose  solid  atmosphere 

Black  rain,  and  fire,  and  hail,  will  burst:    Oh,  hear! 

Thou  who  didst  waken  from  his  summer  dreams 
The  blue  Mediterranean,  where  he  lay, 
Lulled  by  the  coil  of  his  crystalline  streams, 
Beside  a  pumice  isle  in  Bail's  bay, 
And  saw  in  sleep  old  palaces  and  towers 
Quivering  within  the  wave's  intenser  day, 
All  overgrown  with  azure  moss  and  flowers 
So  sweet,  the  sense  faints  picturing  them !    Thou 
For  whose  path  the  Atlantic's  level  powers 
Cleave  themselves  into  chasms,  while  far  below 
The  sea-blooms  and  the  oozy  woods  which  wear 
The  sapless  foliage  of  the  ocean,  know 
Thy  voice,  and  suddenly  grow  gray  with  fear, 
And  tremble  and  despoil  themselves:  Oh,  hear! 

If  I  were  a  dead  leaf  thou  mightest  bear; 

If  I  were  a  swift  cloud  to  fly  with  thee; 

A  wave  to  pant  beneath  thy  power,  and  share 

The  impulse  of  thy  strength,  only  less  free 

Than  Thou,  O  uncontrollable !    If  even 

I  were  as  in  my  boyhood,  and  could  be 

The  comrade  of  thy  wanderings  over  heaven, 

As  then,  when  to  outstrip  the  skyey  speed 

Scarce  seem'd  a  vision,  I  would  ne'er  have  striven 

As  thus  with  thee  in  prayer  in  my  sore  need. 

0  lift  me  as  a  wave,  a  leaf,  a  cloud  1 

1  fall  upon  the  thorns  of  life !    I  bleed ! 

A  heavy  weight  of  hours  has  chain'd  and  bow'd 
One  too  like  thee:  tameless,  and  swift,  and  proud. 

Make  me  thy  lyre,  ev'n  as  the  forest  is: 
What  if  my  leaves  are  falling  like  its  own! 
The  tumult  of  thy  mighty  harmonies 
Will  take  from  both  a  deep  autumnal  tone, 
Sweet  though-in  sadness.    Be  thou,  Spirit  fierce, 
My  spirit !  be  thou  me,  impetuous  one ! 
Drive  my  dead  thoughts  over  the  universe 
Like  withered  leaves  to  quicken  a  new  birth; 


262  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

And,  by  the  incantation  of  this  verse, 
Scatter,  as  from  an  unextinguish'd  hearth 
Ashes  and  sparks,  my  words  among  mankind! 
Be  through  my  lips  to  unawaken'd  earth 
The  trumpet  of  a  prophecy !    O  Wind, 
If  Winter  comes,  can  Spring  be  far  behind? 


Shelley. 


318  All  the  processes  of  the  ages  are  God's  science;  all  the  flow  of 
history  is  his  poetry.  His  sculpture  is  not  in  marble,  but  in  living  and 
speech-giving  forms,  which  pass  away,  not  to  yield  place  to  those  that 
come  after,  but  to  be  perfected  in  a  nobler  studio.  What  he  has  done 
remains,  although  it  vanishes ;  and  he  never  either  forgets  what  he  has 
once  done,  or  does  it  even  once  again.  As  the  thoughts  move  in  the  mind 
of  a  man,  so  move  the  worlds  of  men  and  women  in  the  mind  of  God,  and 
make  no  confusion  there,  for  there  they  had  their  birth,  the  offspring  of 
his  imagination.    Man  is  but  a  thought  of  God. 

"The  imagination."  MacDonald. 

319  Thy  tyranny, 
Together  working  with  thy  jealousies,  — 
Fancies  too  weak  for  boys,  too  green  and  idle 
For  girls  of  nine,  O,  think,  what  they  have  done, 
And  then  run  mad  indeed,  — stark  mad!  for  all 
Thy  by-gone  fooleries  were  but  spices  of  it. 

That  thou  betrayedst  Polixenes,  'twas  nothing;  .  .  . 
Thou  wouldst  have  poison'd  good  Camillo's  honor, 
To  have  him  kill  a  king;  poor  trespasses, 
More  monstrous  standing  by:  whereof  I  reckon 
The  casting  forth  to  crows  thy  baby  daughter 
To  be  or  none  or  little,  —  though  a  devil 
Would  have  shed  water  out  of  fire  ere  done't, 
Nor  is't  directly  laid  to  thee,  the  death 
Of  the  young  Prince,  whose  honorable  thoughts — 
Thoughts  high  for  one  so  tender  —  cleft  the  heart 
That  could  conceive,  a  gross  and  foolish  sire 
Blemish'd  his  gracious  dam:  this  is  not,  no, 
Laid  to  thy  answer:  but  the  last,  —  O  lords, 
When  I  have  said,  cry,  Woe!  —  the  Queen,  the  Queen, 
The  sweet' st,  dear'st  creature 's  dead;  and  vengeance  for 't 
Not  dropp'd  down  yet. 
"Winter's  Tale."  Shakespeare. 


III. 

MODES  OF  DEVELOPMENT. 


ILL    POEMS  OF  EXPEESSIOK. 

Q  OME  of  the  elemental  actions  of  the  mind  which  cause  mod- 
^  ulations  of  the  voice  have  been  studied  for  the  bettei 
understanding  of  the  true  nature  of  Vocal  Expression.  We 
have  found  that  the  actions  or  attitudes  of  the  mind  direct'iv,  and 
more  or  less  spontaneously,  cause  these  modulations,  and  that  no 
artificial  system  of  vocal  signs  or  system  of  rules  can  be  arranged 
independent  of  the  direct  domination  of  mind  over  voice. 

The  question  now  arises,  what  method  should  be  adopted  to 
develop  the  right  actions  of  the  voice,  or  secure  right  processes  ? 

Some  of  the  leading  elemental  acts  of  expression  are  these: 
to  talk,  to  read,  to  recite,  to  address  an  audience,  to  act  and  to 
write,  to  draw  and  to  sing.  Which  of  these  is  most  effective  in 
developing  the  expressive  power  of  the  man  ?  All  should  be  used. 
The  reason  for  this  is  that  each  of  them  calls  into  more  imme- 
diate activity  some  special  set  of  the  faculties.  Practice  merely 
upon  one  is  apt  to  develop  one-sidedness ;  besides  the  develop- 
ment of  the  greatest  power  in  any  one  of  them  cannot  be  attained 
without  some  mastery  of  the  others,  if  ot  only  must  the  well- 
rounded  man  have  all  of  them  in  some  degree,  but  the  special 
master  of  each  one  of  them  must  also  have  more  or  less  knowl- 
edge and  command  of  each  of  the  others.  The  good  speaker, 
for  example,  must  be  "able  to  write,  or  he  will  lack  accuracy.  A 
little  acting  also  will  help  him  to  develop  naturalness,  and  read- 
ing and  reciting  will  give  a  more  all-sided  discipline  to  his 
powers.    These  exercises  will  cause  him  to  realize  the  processes 


264  TOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

of  the  greatest  writers  and  speakers,  and  will  develop  the  powei 
to  see  from  a  different  point  of  view,  and  even  to  think  in  a 
foreign  language. 

Exercise  in  each  of  these  various  acts  tends  to  develop  that 
command  of  the  special  powers  which  are  necessary  for  special 
forms  of  expression.  For  instance,  to  develop  the  greatest  power 
in  acting,  the  actor  must  be  able  to  read  well  and  to  recite  well. 
A  reader,  unless  he  is  able  to  act,  will  be  led  into  exaggeration, 
without  power  to  modulate  his  positions  or  to  make  his  char- 
acter think.  He  must  also  be  able  to  understand  every  point  of 
view :  he  must  be  able  to  appreciate  the  speaker's  attitude  of 
mind  as  well  as  that  of  the  actor.  Even  the  writer,  since  all 
style  is  founded  upon  conversation,  will  receive  great  help  from 
speaking.  Exercise  in  speaking  will  enable  him  to  feel  the  fun- 
damental qualities  of  naturalness;  for  the  spoken  word  brings 
man  nearest  to  a  realization  of  one  mind  in  a  state  of  active 
communication  with  another. 

The  greatest  artists  have  always  sought  for  more  than  one 
point  of  view.  The  best  artists  have  always  studied,  and  have 
been  noted  for  their  power  of  appreciating,  other  arts.  In  fact, 
many  great  artists  have  practised  more  than  one  form  of  art. 
The  art  faculty  is  broadened  by  this  comparative  study.  This 
is  true  of  all  the  arts,  but  it  is  especially  true  of  all  forms  of 
speaking.  The  student  should  converse,  speak,  read,  recite, 
debate,  and  act.  Work  in  all  of  these  acts  will  develop  a  flex- 
ible and  versatile  use  of  the  faculties  of  the  mind.  Such  union 
of  different  acts  will  develop  the  power  to  see  truth  from  every 
possible  point  of  view,  to  modulate  all  modes  of  expression,  and 
to  fit  every  kind  of  subject  and  experience,  and  to  adapt  them  to 
every  kind  of  audience. 

Again,  work  in  all  modes  of  expression  tends  to  prevent  arti- 
ficiality and  mannerisms.  Work  in  recitation  alone  often  tends 
to  develop  stiltedness ;  practice  in  speaking  alone  often  tends  to 
develop  an  unsympathetic  action  relative  to  subject  and  audi- 


FORMS    OF   EXPRESSION.  265 

ence ;  reading  alone  tends  to  eliminate  the  process  of  progressive 
thinking ;  acting  alone  tends  to  develop  staginess.  As  has  been 
already  shown,  all  work  in  Vocal  Expression  tends  to  artificiality 
and  affectation,  and  to  a  lack  of  genuineness  in  thinkiug.  The 
same  is  true  of  Rhetoric.  The  reason  for  this  is  the  tendency 
of  most  minds  to  separate  form  from  thought.  The  practice  in 
different  modes  of  expression  tends  to  prevent  this  superficiality 
and  one-sidedness,  and  to  develop  simplicity,  genuineness  and 
power.  It  gives  greater  discipline  of  the  faculties,  greater  self- 
control,  and  greater  ability  to  vary  and  adapt  as  well  as  to  em- 
ploy all  modes  of  expression. 

Again,  such  a  method  prevents  the  tendency  to  mere  imita- 
tion. If  a  student  is  made  to  read  only,  he  will  tend,  possibly, 
to  read  like  his  teacher ;  but  if  he  is  made  to  speak  on  familiar 
subjects,  his  vocal  modulations  in  conversation  are  so  spontane- 
ous, so  freely  natural,  that  he  rarely  imitates.  By  having  him 
converse  upon  his  feet  to  the  class,  and  then  read  or  recite,  he 
can  be  made  to  feel  when  he  is  natural,  and  when  unnatural. 
Thus  the  student,  as  well  as  the  teacher,  will  be  enabled  to 
recognize  his  fundamental  needs  and  difficulties. 

Again,  work  in  different  forms  of  expression  will  develop 
originality.  The  student  is  not  only  enabled  to  study  himself, 
not  only  prevented  from  imitation  and  made  natural,  but  his 
faculties  and  powers  are  stimulated  to  act  in  their  own  way. 
Some  of  them  will  necessarily  call  for  the  expression  of  his  own 
views  and  convictions. 

The  method  for  Vocal  Expression  here  unfolded  seeks  to  keep 
continually  before  the  student  the  thought,  and  especially  the 
process  of  its  creation  or  realization,  as  well  as  modes  of  delivery. 
Such  a  method  can  be  easily  applied  to  speaking  or  to  any  form 
of  Vocal  Expression".  It  is  notorious  that  mechanical  elocution 
can  only  be  applied  to  certain  forms  of  recitation  and  to  a  cer- 
tain kind  of  literature,  and  cannot  be  applied  to  extemporaneous 
speaking.    This  fact  proves  that  such  a  method  is  inadequate, 


266  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

and  that  the  whole  subject  needs  to  be  placed  upon  a  different 
basis  and  lifted  to  a  higher. 

Every  one  of  the  steps  which  have  been  laid  down  applies  to 
all  of  these  modes  of  expression,  and  nearly  every  one  of  the 
problems  may  be  illustrated  by  speaking,  reading,  recitation,  and 
in  fact  by  all  the  elemental  acts  of  Vocal  Expression. 


XLIL    CONVEBSATION. 

HHHE  question  arises,  with  which  of  these  several  modes  of 
-*-     expression  should  work  begin  in  the  development  of  delivery? 

A  child  learns  to  speak  before  it  learns  to  recite  or  to  write. 
Conversation  is  the  first  and  fundamental  mode  by  which  one 
man  reveals  himself  to  another.  It  is  also  the  simplest  and  most 
direct.  It  brings  the  mind  into  immediate  contact  with  another 
mind.  The  speaker  himself  can  realize  the  nature  of  the  action 
of  his  own  mind,  and  its  relations  to  the  modulations  of  his  voice. 
Conversation  also  gives  the  teacher  the  best  possible  means  of 
judging  the  mental,  as  well  as  the  vocal  action  of  his  pupil. 
Hence,  one  of  the  first  exercises  which  the  teacher  should  use 
is  conversation.  Students  should  speak  to  the  teacher  and  the 
class  upon  the  simplest  subjects.  They  should  discuss,  in  the 
simplest  possible  way,  those  topics  in  which  they  are  the  most 
vitally  interested. 

An  important  means  of  developing  the  power  of  conversation 
is  story-telling.  Stories  are  the  first  form  of  literature  that  the 
child  learns  to  love ;  and  the  very  latest  development  of  art  uses 
stories  as  the  highest  means  of  embodying  the  conceptions  of 
the  imagination.  Men  rarely,  if  ever,  outgrow  their  love  for  them. 
There  must  be  something  in  them,  therefore,  of  fundamental 
importance  to  the  development  of  the  human  mind.  A  story 
that  pleases  a  child  is  nearly  always  full  of  vivid  pictures,  and 
has  a  simple  movement  of  events  or  scenes  which  awakens  the 
association  of  ideas  in  the  mind.     A  good  story  must  be  simple, 


CONVERSATION.  267 

real,  without  affectation  or  stiltedness ;  its  sequence  of  ideas 
should  move  with  genuine  life.  These  are  the  very  qualities  that 
should  characterize  conversation. 

The  sources  from  which  stories  may  be  drawn,  suited  to  the 
age  and  needs  of  a  student  or  a  class,  are  boundless.  Folk-lore, 
personal  experience,  current  literature,  some  particular  phase  of 
history  or  art,  are  among  those  which  come  at  once  to  mind. 
One  method  is  to  assign  poems,  adapted  to  the  needs  and  ad- 
vancement of  the  student,  and  have  the  student  give  the  argu- 
ment or  meaning  in  his  own  language.  Such  problems  may  be 
selected  from  poems  as  simple  as  Longfellow's  "  Tales  of  a  Way- 
side Inn,"  or  from  those  as  difficult  as  the  "  Faery  Queen,"  or 
"The  Ring  and  the  Book." 

Poems  may  be  selected  to  meet  the  needs  of  the  student ;  for 
example,  to  a  student  who  has  no  love  for  poetry,  and  who  lacks 
imagination,  can  be  given  some  beautiful  poem  the  story  of  which 
he  cannot  help  but  like ;  his  imagination  may  be  thus  quickened, 
and  he  be  started  in  the  right  path  to  reach  a  higher  plane  of 
culture.  Sometimes  a  student  jshould  be  left  to  his  own  selec- 
tion, that  his  tastes  and  tendencies  may  be  observed  and  studied 
by  the  teacher. 

There  are  many  advantages  in  this  use  of  stories.  The  student 
will  be  brought  into  contact  with  the  greatest  literary  art.  He 
will  be  enabled  to  feel  the  real  characteristics  of  true  expression  in 
the  best  authors,  their  simplicity,  ease,  repose,  and  power.  His  lit- 
erary taste  will  be  stimulated,  and  he  will  unconsciously  assim- 
ilate these  qualities  in  his  own  execution.  Again,  he  will  have 
something  to  say,  something  a  class  will  desire  to  hear,  and  ho 
will  be  stirred  to  do  his  best. 

Another  advantage  is  to  bring  the  work  of  expression  into 
contact  with  literature.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  poetry  and  litera- 
ture are  the  highest  modes  of  expression,  and  in  the  development 
of  all  art  a  sense  of  a  right  standard  can  be  best  gained  by  con- 
tact with  them.     Besides,  conversation  may  be  made  an  impor- 


268  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

tant  aid  in  studying  literature ;  not  in  a  mechanical  or  analytic 
way,  but  in  accordance  with  the  principles  of  all  true  education ; 
not  on  a  basis  of  gaining  information  merely,  but  also  power  to 
execute.  It  obeys  the  principle  that  "  to  know  any  thing  we 
must  do  it,"  —  the  principle  which  underlies  all  manual  training 
and  all  reforms  in  education.  Instead  of  being  crammed  with 
facts  about  a  poem,  the  student  will  be  enabled  to  enter  directly 
into  sympathy  with  its  spirit.  Literature  must  be  studied  by  di- 
rect contact  and  assimilation.  Whatever  keeps  us  away  from 
reading  literature  itself  is  bad.  Whatever  brings  us  into  direct, 
sympathetic  contact  with  the  ideas  of  a  literary  work  is  good. 
Such  a  course,  in  short,  develops  that  true  literary  appreciation 
which  lies  at  the  basis  not  only  of  all  criticism,  but  of  all  artistic 
power  and  of  all  culture  and  development. 

While  story-telling  is  one  of  the  simplest  forms  of  expression, 
it  is  one  of  the  most  difficult.  A  good  story-teller  is  rare.  Car- 
lyle  says  that  this  power  is  a  sign  of  a  great  mind.  Simplicity  is 
always  difficult,  for  it  is  the  charm  of  the  greatest  art,  and  sim- 
plicity is  the  fundamental  characteristic  of  a  good  story.  Students 
should,  therefore,  often  be  led  to  study  the  great  story-tellers, 
such  as  Chaucer,  so  as  to  learn  from  example  the  power  of  simple 
truth  when  told  in  the  most  direct  way. 

The  preparation  of  a  stoiy  should  vary  with  each  individual ; 
but  it  should  consist  chiefly  in  deciding  upon  where  to  begin, 
and  upon  the  fundamental  points  or  purpose.  A  good  story  must 
be  definite  and  concise.  There  will  always  be  great  temptation 
to  wander,  or  to  take  up  too  much  time.  It  is  very  important, 
therefore,  that  a  student  should  be  timed,  that  he  may  present 
just  what  is  interesting,  just  what  is  important,  and  may  begin 
to  have  the  power  of  pre-conceiving  his  thought  in  form  and  of 
knowing  the  amount  of  time  each  part  will  take.  All  art  must 
be  founded  upon  just  such  foresight. 

In  the  act  of  telling  a  story,  all  the  powers  of  the  mind  must 
be  active.     Every  true  story  is  dramatic,  and  the  imagination  and 


EXTEMPORANEOUS    SPEAKING.  269 

sympathy,  as  the  two  elements  of  the  dramatic  instinct,  must 
especially  be  awake.  There  should  be  little  theorizing  about 
conversation ;  all  should  be  as  free  and  simple  as  possible.  The 
student  should  not  feel  that  he  is  getting  up  to  make  a  speech,  but 
that  he  is  simply  facing  his  class  to  speak  of  something  in  which 
he  is  interested.  His  heart  must  burn  with  his  thought,  and  he 
must  make  them  feel  and  see  what  he  feels  and  sees,  and  awaken 
their  interest  in  the  poem  so  that  they  will  themselves  be  led 
to  read  it. 

It  would  be  an  invaluable  discipline  for  parents  or  teachers 
from  the  earliest  years  to  lead  children  to  tell  the  stories  about 
that  which  they  are  reading.  If  steps  were  taken  to  interest 
children  in  reading  books,  and  in  talking  about  them  from  early 
years,  their  education  and  culture  would  be  more  satisfactory. 

Many  hints  have  been  thrown  out  as  to  the  educational  value 
of  telling  stories,  and  of  discussions ;  but  in  general  it  may  be 
said,  that  there  is  no  step  which  has  been  shown,  no  problem 
which  has  been  laid  down  in  the  last  lessons,  to  which  some  form 
of  speaking,  conversation,  or  discussion  cannot  be  applied. 


XLIIL    EXTEMPORANEOUS  SPEAKING. 

OTUDENTS  should  be  trained  as  early  as  possible  to  present 
^  their  thoughts  and  ideas  upon  their  feet.  All  conversa- 
tion, of  course,  is  extemporaneous  speaking.  Conversation,  how- 
ever, is  more  free  and  simple  than  speaking ;  and  while  work 
should  begin  with  the  simple  forms  of  conversation,  it  should  be 
lifted  as  early  as  possible  into  systematic  logical  discussion. 

What  is  meant  by  extemporaneous  speaking?  It  does  not 
mean  speaking  without  preparation,  without  study  or  arrange- 
ment of  ideas ;  the  words  only  are  impromptu.  It  means  that 
free  action  of  the  mind  in  speaking  in  which  the  words  and  the 
form  of  presentation  are  more  or  less  modified  by  the  presenoe 
of  an  audience. 


270  VOCAI,   EXPRESSION. 

Dr.  Edward  Everett  Hale  makes  two  valuable  suggestions 
for  extemporaneous  speaking.  First :  speak  whenever  any  one 
asks  you ;  and,  secondly,  no  one  will  ever  make  a  speaker  until 
he  is  ready  to  make  a  fool  of  himself  for  the  sake  of  his  subject. 
He  has  given  also  the  following  points :  — 

"  Study  carefully  what  you  have  to  say,  and  put  into  words  in 
writing,  or  by  speaking  aloud  to  an  imaginary  person. 

"  Say  nothing  about  yourself,  least  of  all  in  the  introduction. 

"  Arrange  your  points  in  order. 

"  Stick  to  your  order. 

"Divide  your  time  among  your  points  according  to  their 
importance. 

"  Give  each  point  the  time  you  have  appointed  for  it. 

"  Stop  when  you  are  through." 

These  points  are  similar  to  Professor  Monroe's  "  Laws "  of 
Extemporaneous  Speaking :  — 

"  Have  something  to  say. 

"  Say  it. 

"  Stop." 

Dr.  Hale  advises  a  student  to  sit  down  and  write  a  letter  to 
a  friend,  and  to  say,  "I  am  to  speak  on  a  certain  subject,  and  I 
wish  to  make  these  points ; "  then  let  him  enumerate  the  points 
and  put  them  into  words.  "  If  the  student  finds  he  has  nothing 
to  say  in  his  letter,  he  had  better  write  to  the  committee  that 
invited  him,  and  say  that  the  probable  death  of  his  grandmother 
will  possibly  prevent  his  being  present  on  the  occasion." 

"  The  first  great  temptation  of  a  speaker  is  to  begin  with  him- 
self and  to  talk  about  himself.  Another  temptation  is  to  dwell 
upon  the  points  which  are  most  difficult  to  him,  or  upon  some- 
thing in  which  he  is  personally  interested,  and  not  upon  that 
which  is  most  important  to  his  theme."  A  speaker  rises  to  ac- 
complish a  certain  end.  He  wishes  to  drive  home  a  certain 
point,  and  to  win  the  conviction  of  his  audience.  For  this 
reason  he  must  divide  his  time,  not  according  to  his  own  pleas- 


EXTEMPORANEOUS    SPEAKING.  271 

ure,  but  according  to  the  importance  of  his  subject,  or  according 
to  the  relation  of  his  discussion  to  the  accomplishment  of  the  end. 

The  importance  of  holding  to  the  order  of  thought  cannot  be 
over-estimated,  because  there  are  many  temptations  for  the  mind 
to  wander  from  the  path  it  has  laid  down ;  but  yielding  to  such 
temptations  will  destroy  all  power  in  speaking. 

All  art  requires  the  artist  to  foresee  results.  He  must  conceive 
an  ideal,  and  then  hold  it  until  he  embodies  it  as  definitely  as 
possible.  The  speaker  must  be  able  in  his  calm  moments  to 
foresee  just  what  he  has  to  say.  In  the  heat  of  passion  he  is  apt 
to  be  one-sided,  and,  in  pursuing  a  train  of  ideas  of  interest 
only  to  himself,  to  neglect  those  which  are  most  important  to 
bis  theme.  Hence  the  speaker  must  be  able  in  cold  blood  to 
choose  what  he  has  to  say,  and  the  order  of  his  jioints.  His  own 
personal  interest  and  enjoyment  must  be  sacrificed  to  his  cause. 

It  is  still  more  difficult  and  important  to  cling  to  the  time 
previously  appointed.  Many  a  speech  consists  in  a  long  discus- 
sion of  the  first  point.  If  the  result  could  be  compared  with  the 
speaker's  intention,  it  would  be  found  one-sided,  and  his  real  aim 
wholly  lost  from  view. 

Speakers  generally  think  they  have  occupied  a  very  short  time. 
Dr.  Hale  says,  that  if  you  ride  home  with  six  or  eight  people 
who  havo  just  spoken  on  the  same  platform,  and  consult  each 
one  separately,  each  man  will  think  he  made  the  shortest  speech. 
This  is  because  every  man  enjoys  so  much  his  own  speaking. 
Hence  there  is  a  universal  tendency  to  speak  too  long. 

After  a  speaker  has  spoken  he  should  compare  what  he  has 
done  with  what  he  intended,  and  rigidly  rein  himself  up  the 
next  time  to  achieve  exactly  what  he  intends. 

The  preparation  for  extemporaneous  speaking  is  of  great  im- 
portance. A  subject  heeds  meditation.  It  is  astonishing  how 
the  mind  goes  on  working  in  meditation,  arranging  illustrations 
and  points,  and  gradually  probing  to  the  very  depth  of  the  most 
complex  theme. 


272  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

XLIV.    DISCUSSION  AND  DEBATE. 

/^VNE  of  the  most  important  exercises  for  the  development  of 
^-^  delivery  is  discussion  upon  subjects  of  the  student's  own 
choice,  which  may  be  simple  and  commonplace,  or  the  greatest 
and  most  important  of  living  issues.  Such  exercises  develop  the 
insight  and  general  knowledge  of  students.  They  form  one  of 
the  most  important  aids  in  inspiring  them  to  keep  posted  upon 
current  events.  Newspapers  at  the  present  time  are  so  large, 
and  the  scope  of  news  so  extended,  that  it  is  difficult  to  keep 
up  with  the  leading  events  of  the  world.  Some,  however,  do 
keep  posted  by  reading  only  a  few  paragraphs  in  the  papers 
daily.  By  giving  students  the  leading  topics  of  national  or  in- 
ternational interest,  a  means  is  found  to  develop  their  power  to 
select  and  to  grasp  broad  living  questions ;  the  mind  is  set  to 
work  upon  complex  problems,  and  trained  to  right  methods 
of  selection  and  arrangement.  The  same  exercise  may  also 
be  made  an  aid  in  training  students  to  make  investigations  in 
libraries. 

Another  exercise  in  speaking,  which  is  also  very  important  in 
developing  the  right  mental  action  and  stimulating  natural  de- 
liverv,  is  debate. 

In  preparing  for  debate  the  student  should  study  carefully 
both  sides  of  the  question.  Webster,  the  ablest  of  debaters, 
was  always  prepared  on  every  question  that  arose.  The  reason 
was,  that  whenever  any  question  came  up  in  Congress,  he  was 
accustomed  to  debate  to  himself  both  sides.  Webster,  with  his 
great  mind,  could  state  the  arguments  for  either  side  better  than 
any  one  else.  Having  therefore  argued  it  out  to  himself,  and 
stated  both  sides,  when  any  opponent  stated  an  argument,  he 
was  prepared  to  answer  it.  It  is  said  that  he  often  stated  an 
opponent's  position  better  than  that  opponent  did  himself. 

One  who  wishes  to  debate  must  not  blind  himself,  or  endeavor 
to  ignore  the  other  side  of  the  question.     He  must  be  fair ;  he 


DISCUSSION   AND    DEBATE.  273 

must  recognize  all  legitimate  arguments.  He  must  debate  for 
truth's  sake ;  he  must  himself  look  upon  all  sides  of  the  question 
before  he  ventures  to  speak  upon  any  one  side. 

Often  the  best  way  to  win  the  audience  to  his  cause,  is  to  speak 
frankly  and  to  recognize  the  arguments  of  the  other  side.  All 
men  love  frankness  and  honesty.  Such  a  course  awakens  the 
judicial  faculty  in  the  minds  of  his  auditors ;  it  disarms  antago- 
nism and  leads  them  to  look  calmly  or  with  sympathy  upon  his 
arguments.  But  one  who  refuses  to  see  any  but  his  own  side, 
and  tries  to  blind  the  minds  of  his  auditors  to  the  fact  that  there 
are  other  sides,  will  be  likely  to  find  that  they  rebel  against  all 
the  arguments  he  may  offer.  The  first  great  object  in  debate  is  to 
disarm  this  tendency  of  the  hearer  to  oppose  and  to  argue  against 
a  speaker ;  in  starting  out  the  debater  should  often  touch  those 
points  upon  which  all  agree,  or  in  some  way  cause  the  audience 
to  look  fairly  at  all  sides  of  any  question.  There  are  very  few 
propositions  which  can  be  stated  which  have  not  more  than  one 
side.  There  are  some  who  seem  to  think  that  no  man  who  is 
honest,  no  lawyer  who  is  really  true  can  undertake  the  case  of 
a  man  whom  he  knows  to  be  guilty.  But  this  is  a  misconception 
of  the  nature  of  an  advocate,  or  even  of  justice.  Even  the  law 
requires  that  the  criminal  shall  not  be  condemned  without 
counsel ;  some  one  must  take  his  side  or  injustice  may  be  done 
him.  He  must  have  an  advocate  to  state  those  conditions  and 
circumstances  which  soften  the  severity  of  the  sentence  of  the 
most  hardened  criminal. 

All  goes  by  approximation  in  this  world,  and  no  statement 
of  any  truth  is  completely  perfect.  For  this  reason,  all  minds 
should  be  led  to  debate  and  discuss  the  different  sides  of  any 
given  subject  in  order  to  judge  where  lies  the  preponderance  of 
truth  in  this  approximation,  and  thus  be  enabled  to  see  where 
lies  the  real  depth  of  truth. 

The  subject  of  debate  has  been  so  often  discussed  that  it  is 
only  necessary  to  add  a  few  words  regarding  its  power  to  develop 
18 


274  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

naturalness  in  delivery.  Debate  disciplines  the  antithetic  action 
of  the  mind.  It  disciplines  the  mind  also  to  penetrate  to  funda- 
mentals. As  there  is  a  present  point  to  win,  there  is  a  tendency 
to  cause  the  speaker  to  make  salient  his  central  ideas,  to  en- 
deavor to  give  them  clearly.  The  speaker  is  helped,  too,  by 
being  compelled  to  speak  to  some  one. 

Debate  tends  to  prevent  declamation  and  stiltedness.  The 
speaker  soon  learns  that  in  order  to  win  his  case  he  must  be  sim- 
ple, concise,  and  direct.  Debate  thus  not  only  awakens  mental 
energy  and  develops  the  logical  sequence  of  ideas,  but  it  also 
gives  self-possession,  and  tends  to  discipline  the  man  to  speak 
with  his  whole  nature  and  with  all  his  body  and  with  every  lan- 
guage. Thus  it  becomes  one  of  the  most  effective  exercises  in 
developing  directness  of  delivery. 


XLV.    KECITATION. 

ri^HE  importance  of  Recitation  can  hardly  be  over-estimated. 
-*-  The  universal  custom  in  the  schools  of  the  Greeks  was  to  re- 
cite continually  from  then-  poets.  Many  assign  this  as  the  chief 
cause  of  the  high  development  of  the  artistic  nature  of  the  Greeks. 
Recitation  has  always  been  held  as  one  of  the  most  important 
means  of  developing  the  imagination,  and  especially  the  memory. 
In  the  recitation,  however,  of  any  form  of  literature  from  memory 
there  are  many  dangers.  One  of  the  chief  of  these  is,  the  ten- 
dency to  repeat  mere  words,  thus  developing  accidental  or  verbal 
memory.  All  memory  should  be  of  ideas.  The  thought  should 
be  reproduced,  idea  should  follow  idea  by  a  natural  and  logical 
sequence,  that  is  to  say,  true  recitation  must  always  use  the  phil- 
osophic memory.  A  mechanical  use  of  memory  will  make  all 
expression  artificial. 

The  custom  in  our  schools  and  colleges  of  mechanically  reci- 
ting extracts  often  half  learned,  cannot  be  too  strongly  con- 
demned.    The  mind  is  simply  recalling  words,  and  does   not 


EECITATION.  w£l  tl 

re-create  the  ideas ;  such  practice  encourages  the  student  to  speak 
without  thought,  causes  his  voice  to  become  cold,  his  memory  to 
become  superficial,  and  his  relation  to  literature  to  become  one  of 
indifference. 

The  first  requisite,  therefore,  in  the  recitation  of  poetry  or 
literature,  must  be  an  endeavor  to  stimulate  philosophic  rather 
than  mechanical  or  verbal  memory.  Consciousness,  in  delivery, 
must  centre  in  the  thought.  "  Ideas,  not  words,"  must  be  the 
motto.  A  recitation  must  simply  reproduce  the  process  of  the 
mind.  Idea  must  follow  idea  according  to  the  law  of  associa- 
tion of  ideas.  The  mind  must  be  concentrated  successively  upon 
each  idea  by  a  natural  and  simple  progressive  transition.  Too 
much  importance  cannot  be  attached  to  a  proper  method  of 
preparation.  To  prepare  a  poem  or  any  form  of  literature  for 
recitation  requires  careful  meditation.  The  student  must  read 
it  over  to  himself,  and  get  its  meaning  and  the  sequence  of  ideas. 
If  the  methods  and  steps  so  far  explained  have  been  properly 
practised,  the  mind  has  formed  the  habit  of  giving  attention 
primarily  to  ideas  and  not  to  mere  words. 

Poor  memories  can  be  improved  by  this  method.  The  memoiy, 
when  exercised  philosophically,  will  grow  normally  and  rapidly, 
and  furnish  material  for  the  imagination ;  when  exercised  me- 
chanically and  artificially  it  will  become  dissociated  from  the 
imagination.  All  of  the  patent  methods  for  improving  the 
memory  which  have  been  advanced  in  the  last  few  years  are 
vicious,  because  they  violate  the  laws  of  mental  action.  When 
the  mind  remembers  merely  by  accidents,  the  power  of  thinking  is 
stifled.  Memory  can  only  truly  act  according  to  the  great  law 
of  association  of  ideas. 

The  benefits  of  the  best  work  in  recitation  can  be  seen  at  once. 
As  the  student  practises  a  good  piece  of  literature,  with  clear 
ideas,  simply  and  progressively  expressed,  he  will  find  his  logical 
power  improved.  The  law  of  association  of  ideas  will  begin  to 
dominate  him  and  affect  his  expression ;  he  will  find  the  meth- 


276  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

odic  transitions  of  his  mind  clearer,  his  power  to  concentrate  his 
faculties  stronger.  Expression  will  begin  to  be  the  result  of  an 
act  of  thought,  and  not  a  mere  mechanical  act.  While  artificial 
and  mechanical  methods  of  recitation  develop  verbal  or  accidental 
memory,  true  methods  of  vocal  expression  are  the  best  modes  of 
developing  the  power  of  philosophic  memory.  Besides,  the 
teacher,  with  an  understanding  of  the  proper  action  of  the  mind 
and  its  relation  to  expression,  will  be  able  to  test  the  mental 
action  of  the  student.  He  can  see  whether  the  student  is  merely 
repeating  words,  whether  all  attention  is  upon  accidents,  or 
whether  he  really  thinks  each  idea  adequately. 

Thus,  true  work  in  Vocal  Expression  can  be  made  an  impor- 
tant aid  to  education.  There  is  no  process  of  recitation,  no 
form  of  explanation  in  any  department  which  does  not,  more  or 
less,  use  Vocal  Expression.  It  is,  in  fact,  a  phase  of  all  depart- 
ments of  education  rather  than  a  department  in  itself.  But  it  is 
also  a  separate  department,  and  though  it  is  so  universally  mis- 
understood and  neglected,  it  must  find  a  definite  place  in  any 
true  educational  system. 

The  teacher  of  Vocal  Expression  must  be  broad  enough  to 
give  general  counsel  on  the  evil  tendencies  in  the  thought 
processes  of  students.  He  can  be  an  aid  to  other  teachers  in 
other  departments,  and  they  to  him.  When  such  evil  tenden- 
cies are  pointed  out  to  him,  he  is  the  one  to  eradicate  them  most 
directly.  While  the  correction  of  such  evils  belongs  in  a  sec- 
ondary sense  to  all  forms  of  education,  the  work  belongs  pri- 
marily and  essentially  to  the  teacher  of  expression. 
.  With  what  subject,  what  form  of  literature,  and  what  kind  of 
literature  should  a  student  begin  ?  With  the  simplest  and  best ; 
the  simplest  lyrics.  Songs  are  the  first,  most  essential,  and 
most  fundamental  expression  of  the  spontaneous  action  of  the 
creative  faculties  and  emotional  powers  of  man.  The  lyrics  of 
a  people  show  their  spirit  more  adequately  than  any  other  means ; 
their  loves  and  hates,  their  patriotism  and  ambitions,  their  ideas 


RECITATION.  277 

and  aims.  Next  to  this  is  the  story.  The  latest  popular  move- 
ment in  literature,  the  short  story,  is  a  very  important  one  in  its 
bearing  upon  Vocal  Expression.  These  short  stories  can  be  easily 
abridged,  or  arranged  for  recitation.  They  are  often  simple  and 
truly  dramatic. 

Forms  of  literature  can  of  course  be  selected  for  the  student 
so  as  to  meet  his  needs ;  yet  ordinarily,  for  criticism,  the  work 
chosen  should  be  the  student's  own ;  at  any  rate,  the  arrangement 
of  it.  His  own  taste  must  guide  him.  The  teacher  can  thus  see 
his  needs  and  note  his  growth  and  progress,  and  the  develop- 
ment of  his  taste  for  the  best  literature.  Care  must  be  taken, 
however,  that  the  selections  are  not  too  difficult.  A  selection 
too  subtle  or  complex  to  be  assimilated  by  the  student  may  cause 
stiltedness  and  destroy  simplicity. 

Ballads,  too,  are  well  adapted  for  practice  in  Vocal  Expression. 
Old  ballads  are  simple  in  form,  dramatic  in  spirit,  and  are  the 
fountain-head  of  modern  English  poetry.  The  events  of  the  story 
in  all  true  ballads,  ancient  or  modern,  are  simply  told.  Old  ballads 
may  be  made  the  means  of  leading  the  student  to  appreciate 
later  and  higher  literary  art.  For  example,  a  study  of  the  old 
ballad  on  the  death  of  Arthur  may  lead  the  student  to  a  higher 
appreciation  of  "  The  Passing  of  Arthur,"  by  Tennyson,  which 
is  a  species  of  translation  of  the  old  story  into  modern  imagery 
and  modern  poetry. 

Longfellow  is  a  good  author  to  study  for  poetic  stories.  His 
language  is  beautiful  and  easy  to  understand.  The  "  Tales  of  a 
Wayside  Inn"  and  many  of  his  other  narrative  poems  are  simple 
and  universally  popular.  No  one  who  has  any  love  for  poetry 
whatever  will  fail  to  appreciate  them.  Students  whose  imagina- 
tions have  been  repressed  may  have  their  love  of  poetry  stimu- 
lated by  the  study  of  such  simple  work. 

One  important  point  must  not  be  forgotten;  the  student 
must  have  little  or  no  help  in  the  preparation  of  selections  for 
criticism.     Specific  lessons  must  be  given,  and  definite  steps  in 


1578  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

training  taken ;  to  these  too  much  attention  can  hardly  be  given. 
A  line  or  a  part  of  a  poem  may  be  required  to  be  given  at  times  in 
a  specific  way.  But  when  a  student  is  preparing  a  recitation,  he 
must  be  absolutely  free  from  all  rules  and  restraints ;  he  must  be 
alone.  Each  heart  must  commune  with  poetry  and  art,  as  far 
as  possible,  without  dictation. 

One  chief  cause  of  the  degradation  of  elocution  is  the  custom 
of  coaching.  If  a  student  wishes  to  make  a  speech,  he  immedi- 
ately goes  to  some  teacher.  He  must  be  told  when  and  where 
to  make  a  gesture ;  he  must  be  told  every  inflection  he  is  to 
make ;  he  must  be  told  even  what  piece  to  select ;  he  must  be 
told  everything.  He  pays  his  teacher  to  give  him  these  that  he 
may  obtain  this  or  that  prize.  So  long  as  elocution  allows  itself  to 
be  a  slave  to  such  a  custom  as  coaching,  so  long  as  some  of 
our  leading  institutions  expect  the  teacher  of  elocution  to  pre- 
pare a  show  at  the  close  of  school,  by  coaching  and  cramming  the 
students  for  a  special  occasion,  instead  of  developing  their  per- 
sonality and  power,  so  long  will  elocution  be  despised.  It  can- 
not rise  above  such  shackles ;  for  as  long  as  the  public  holds 
success  in  coaching  as  the  highest  conception  of  the  practice  of 
elocution,  so  long  will  it  be  considered  outside  of  the  realm  of 
true  education ;  it  will  be  recognized  simply  as  a  necessary  evil, 
something  to  be  tolerated,  but  not  encouraged  beyond  a  certain 
point ;  as  something  which  may  serve  at  a  pinch  as  a  substitute 
for  poor  work  in  other  departments,  but  of  no  real  educational 
advantage  in  itself. 

Of  course  there  is  a  form  of  coaching  where  the  teacher  care- 
fully observes  and  shows  the  student  the  effort  and  conception 
of  his  own  mind.  But  he  never  dictates,  —  he  draws  out.  He 
gives  no  gesture,  no  inflection ;  he  simply  observes  the  student, 
and  shows  him  where  he  fails  to  actualize  his  own  conceptions 
and  ideals.  He  does  not  cram,  does  not  dominate ;  never  de- 
mands of  the  student  to  imitate  him.  He  lets  the  student  select 
his  own  extract,  arrange  it  himself,  and  study  it  alone.     The 


CEITICISM   AND    APPRECIATION.  279 

work  must  be  the  student's  own ;  he  must  be  true  to  his  own 
temperament  and  to  his  own  personality.  The  teacher  only  tries 
to  awaken  his  instincts,  to  inspire  him  with  a  conception  of  his 
highest  possibilities. 

But  such  work  is  rare,  and  students  are  often  impatient  with 
it.  Such  a  method,  however,  is  the  only  one  in  accord  with  true 
principles  of  education ;  the  only  one  that  will  truly  develop  the 
man,  and  be  of  permanent  value. 


XLVL    CRITICISM  AND  APPRECIATION. 

A  FTER  execution  comes  the  necessity  of  suggestion  and  criti- 
■^*-  cism  on  the  part  of  the  teacher.  Here  we  come  to  a  very 
important  phase  of  the  subject.  No  word  is  more  abused  than 
criticism ;  no  work  is  more  misconceived. 

Criticism  is  not  fault-finding.  Of  course,  there  are  a  few  ex- 
ternal faults,  such  as  pronunciation,  qualities  of  the  voice,  the 
hand  behind  the  back,  or  in  the  pocket,  on  which  almost  anyone 
can  make  suggestions.  But  these  are  not  important  faults ;  they 
are  only  accidental,  and  do  not  belong  to  the  real  problem  of 
delivery.  But  even  in  these  things  there  is  great  danger  of 
confusing  peculiarities  with  faults.  If  every  imperfect  feather 
was  removed  from  the  most  beautiful  oriole,  there  would  not  be 
one  feather  left.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  absolute  perfection 
except  in  mechanical  work.  Things  may  be  made  alike  ;  me- 
chanical work  may  be  made  so  as  to  seem  absolutely  perfect ; 
but  a  measuring  rod  of  correctness  cannot  be  applied  to  anything 
in  nature.  The  limbs  of  a  tree  cannot  be  measured.  The  diam- 
eter of  the  tree  or  the  height  may  possibly  be  given ;  but  to 
measure  the  angles,  the  directions,  and  multitudinous  variations 
of  the  million  little  twigs  is  wholly  impossible.  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  a  perfect  leaf  among  all  the  forests  of  earth.  "  All  goes 
by  approximation  in  this  world." 

Thus  artistic  criticism  cannot  be  judicial.    Judicial  criticism, 


280  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

or  comparing  one  thing  with  another,  is  of  very  little  consequence. 
It  is  not  a  question  even  with  the  student  himself  as  to  how  he 
ranks  with  other  students.  The  entire  idea  of  ranking  must  be 
forgotten  in  the  work  of  recitation.  The  fact  is,  "  prize  declama- 
tions" and  other  "contests"  do  more  harm  than  good.  All 
students  cannot  be  measured  by  one  standard. 

The  teacher  must  appreciate  first  of  all  the  temperament  and 
special  powers,  the  intention,  and  the  ideals  of  the  student. 
True  criticism  is  a  comparison  of  the  actual  with  the  ideal.  It 
is  first  necessary  to  understand  the  possibilities  of  a  student. 
The  greatest  faults  may  be  signs  of  the  greatest  power.  Criti- 
cism is  not  finding  fault,  nor  passing  judgment.  It  is  an  endeavor 
to  show  the  student  wherein  he  actualizes  his  own  ideal,  and 
wherein  he  fails  to  do  his  best. 

There  are  two  great  dangers  in  criticising;  first,  finding  fault; 
and  second,  trying  to  compare  judicially  everything  with  an 
abstract  general  standard.  But  there  are  other  faults,  one  of 
which  is  flattery ;  this  is  one  of  the  greatest  dangers  in  elocution. 
It  is  an  endeavor  to  encourage  the  student;  but  there  is  no 
greater  discouragement  to  an  earnest  pupil  than  the  fact  that 
there  is  a  failure  to  appreciate  his  effort  and  struggle,  or  the 
possibility  and  necessity  of  his  growth.  The  fundamental  desire  of 
the  student  is  to  have  his  teacher  penetrate  through  his  strug- 
gles, failures  as  well  as  successes,  to  his  ideal  intention.  To  be 
told  that  all  is  well  is  most  discouraging  to  the  one  who  has  a 
noble  ideal.  He  knows  that  this  is  not  true ;  he  longs  to  know 
why  his  grasp  fell  so  far  short  of  his  reach.  Browning's  expres- 
sion, "  A  man's  reach  should  exceed  his  grasp,"  states  a  universal 
experience.  One  of  the  first  requisites  of  criticism  is  to  show 
the  student  the  direction  of  his  own  reach  and  the  character  of 
his  grasp :  wherein  they  agree,  and  wherein  they  are  antagonistic. 
If  the  grasp  is  in  the  direction  of  the  reach,  and  the  reach  is  in 
the  right  direction,  or  if  it  is  in  accordance  with  the  student's 
own  instinct,  intuition,  and  ideal,  then  a  recitation  is  a  great 


CRITICISM    AND    APPRECIATION.  281 

suceess.  But  the  greatest  hindrance  to  the  student  is  passing 
over  faults,  tempting  him  to  lower  his  ideal,  to  feel  that  he  has 
reached  his  highest  possibilities.  The  true  student's  desire  is 
criticism.  He  hungers  for  it.  He  begins  to  recognize  his  own 
ideal,  and  he  will  criticise  himself  more  severely  than  anyone 
else,  because  he  begins  to  realize  his  failure  to  actualize  his  ideal. 
The  true  teacher  penetrates  to  this  consciousness  of  shortcoming, 
and  the  causes  of  the  lack  of  grasp,  and  here  begins  to  work. 
He  inspires  the  student  to  feel  his  own  ideal,  and  helps  him  to 
struggle  toward  it.  At  times  the  teacher  must  make  him  more 
conscious  of  the  place  ,where  he  did  his  best ;  but  never  fail  to 
show  where  he  did  his  worst.  Then,  and  then  only,  will  there 
be  growth  and  progress. 

Teachers  and  students  should,  if  possible,  learn  how  painters 
and  sculptors  criticise  each  other,  how  severely  they  criticise 
themselves.  They  should  learn  the  true  spirit  of  art  criticism, 
or  of  dramatic  criticism,  such  as  that  of  Mr.  William  Winter. 
In  some  way  students  must  be  made  to  feel  the  true  nature  of 
art  work :  that  it  is  a  continual  struggle,  that  the  highest  compli- 
ment is  an  appreciation  of  the  struggle.  There  must  never  be 
blindfold  admiration,  but  an  admiration  that  is  founded  on  in- 
sight. When  a  student  is  not  satisfied  with  himself,  it  only 
vexes  him.  the  more  to  have  some  one  flatter  him  and  try  to 
prove  to  him  that  his  work  is  all  right.  He  knows  it  is  not  all 
right.  His  discontent  is  the  despair  that  has  stirred  every  artis- 
tic soul.  When  a  student  feels  an  echo  of  his  own  needs  com- 
ing to  him  from  another  soul,  a  recognition  of  what  he  intended, 
then  he  is  most  encouraged,  because  he  knows  that  at  some  time 
he  will  reach  and  achieve  that  conception.  Our  struggle  is  mir- 
rored to  us ;  we  know  more  f uUy,  and  then  we  try  to  do,  and 
then  we  become. 

These  few  principles  at  the  start  will  enable  the  student  to 
begin  properly.  It  is  the  hardest  work  to  secure  a  right  begin- 
ning.  There  are  so  many  misconceptions,  so  many  side-tracks 


282  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

by  which  we  are  apt  to  be  led  astray  in  work  in  Vocal  Expres- 
sion, that  it  is  very  important  first  of  all  to  remember  that  it  is 
art  work ;  and  that  though,  like  all  art  work,  it  is  very  discour- 
aging, yet  a  certain  sense  of  oft  recurring  discouragement  is 
necessary  to  all  true  progress  in  art,  and  naturally  precedes  all 
true  artistic  satisfaction. 

320.    NATUBE. 
O  solitude  !  if  I  must  with  thee  dwell, 
Let  it  not  be  among  the  jumbled  heap 
Of  murky  buildings :  climb  with  me  the  steep,  — 
Nature's  observatory  —  whence  the  dell, 
In  flowery  slopes,  its  river's  crystal  swell. 
May  seem  a  span ;  let  me  thy  vigils  keep 
'Mongst  boughs  pavilion'd,  where  the  deer's  swift  leap 
Startles  the  wild  bee  from  the  foxglove  bell. 
But  though  I'll  gladly  trace  these  scenes  with  thee, 
Yet  the  sweet  converse  of  an  innocent  mind, 
Whose  words  are  images  of  thoughts  refined, 
Is  my  soul's  pleasure;  and  it  sure  must  be 
Almost  the  highest  bliss  of  human-kind, 

When  to  thy  haunts  two  kindred  spirits  flee. 

Keats. 


321.    THE  TWO  VOICES. 
Two  Voices  are  there ;  one  is  of  the  Sea, 
One  of  the  Mountains;  each  a  mighty  voice: 
In  both  from  age  to  age  thou  didst  rejoice, 
They  were  thy  chosen  music,  Liberty ! 
There  came  a  tyrant,  and  with  holy  glee 
Thou  fought' st  against  him,  —  but  hast  vainly  striven 
Thou  from  thy  Alpine  holds  at  length  art  driven, 
Where  not  a  torrent  murmurs  heard  by  thee. 
—  Of  one  deep  bliss  thine  ear  hath  been  bereft; 
Then  cleave,  O  cleave  to  that  which  still  is  left  — 
For,  high-soul' d  Maid,  what  sorrow  would  it  be 
That  Mountain  floods  should  thunder  as  before, 
And  Ocean  bellow  from  his  rocky  shore, 
And  neither  awful  Voice  be  heard  by  Thee ! 


W.  Wordsworth. 


TONE-COLOR.  283 

Sing  loud,  0  bird  in  the  tree  !  0  bird,  sing  loud  in  the  sky  ! 

And  honey-bees,  blacken  the  clover  seas  !  there  are  none  of  you  glad  as  I. 


Life  is  no  idle  dream,  but  a  solemn  reality,  based  upon  Eternity  and 
encompassed  by  Eternity.  Carlyie. 

Day  is  dying  !     Float,  0  song,  down  the  westward  river  ! 
Requiems  chanting  to  the  Day  —  Day,  the  mighty  Giver. 


Oh,  Brignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair,  and  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there  would  grace  a  summer  queen. 


Higher  still  and  higher  from  the  earth  thou  springest, 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire  the  blue  deep  thou  wingest, 
And  singing  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever  singest. 


Still,  through  our  paltry  stir  and  strife  glows  down  the  wished  Ideal, 
And  Longing  moulds  in  clay  what  Life  carves  in  the  marble  Real. 


Lowell 


Oh  !  the  bells  of  Shandon  sound  far  more  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters  of  the  river  Lee. 


The  last  link  is  broken  that  bound  me  to  thee, 

And  the  words  thou  hast  spoken  have  rendered  me  free. 


Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  bark 

On  a  breeze  from  the  northward  free  : 

So  shoots  through  the  morning  sky  the  lark, 
Or  the  swan  through  the  summer  sea. 


Scoli. 


March  to  the  battle-field  !  the  foe  is  now  before  us ; 

Each  heart  is  Freedom's  shield,  and  heaven  is  shining  o'er  us. 

O'Meara. 

I  held  it  truth,  with  him  who  sings 

To  one  clear  harp  in  divers  tones, 

That  nien  may  rise  on  stepping-stones 
Of  their  dead  selves  to  higher  things. 


Ah  !  that  lady  of  the  villa  —  and  I  loved  her  so  -  — 
Near  the  city  of  Se villa  —  years  and  years  ago. 


Waller. 


284  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Never  pay  any  attention  to  the  understanding  when  it  stands  in 
opposition  to  any  other  faculty  of  the  mind.  The  mere  understanding, 
however  useful  and  indispensable,  is  the  meanest  faculty  in  the  human 
mind,  and  the  most  to  be  distrusted ;  and  yet  the  great  majority  of 
people  trust  to  nothing  else. 

What  ho,  my  jovial  mates  !  come  on  !  we  '11  frolic  it 
Like  fairies  frisking  in  the  merry  moonshine  i 


I  cor/LD  not  love  thee  half  so  much,  loved  I  not  honour  more. 


Ah,  well !  for  us  all  some  sweet  hope  lies 
Deeply  buried  from  human  eyes  ; 
And  in  the  hereafter  angels  may 
Roll  the  stone  from  its  grave  away  ! 


Whitlier. 


Up  !  comrades,  up  !  in  Eokeby's  halls 
Ne'er  be  it  said  our  courage  falls. 


One  morn  I  miss'd  him  on  the  custom'd  hill, 
Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favourite  tree : 
Another  came  ;  nor  yet  beside  the  rill, 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he. 


A  song,  oh  a  song  for  the  merry  May  ! 
The  cows  in  the  meadow,  the  lambs  at  play, 
A  chorus  of  birds  in  the  maple-tree, 
And  a  world  in  blossom  for  you  and  me. 


The  mossy  marbles  rest  on  the  lips  that  he  has  press'd  in  their  bloom  ;  and 
the  names  he  loved  to  hear  have  been  carved  for  many  a  year  on  the  tomb. 

Holmes. 

The  cloud-capped  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve, 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind.     We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep. 


TONE-COLOR.  285 

No  ray  is  dimmed,  no  atom  worn, 

My  oldest  force  is  good  as  new  | 

And  the  fresh  rose  on  yonder  thorn 

Gives  back  the  bending  heavens  in  dew. 

Emerson. 


Shall  I,  wasting  in  despair,  die  because  a  woman's  fair  ?  Or  my  cheeks 
make  pale  with  care  'cause  another's  rosy  are  ?  Be  she  fairer  than  the  day, 
or  the  flowery  meads  in  May  —  if  she  be  not  so  to  me,  what  care  I  how  fair 
slle  be  ?  George  Wither. 

Hence  !  home,  you  idle  creatures  !  get  you  home  ! 


We  can  show  you  where  he  lies,  fleet  of  foot,  and  tall  of  size  ; 
You  shall  see  him  brought  to  bay  :  waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay. 
The  Hunters.  Scott. 

And  so  beside  the  Silent  Sea  I  wait  the  muffled  oar ; 
No  harm  from  him  can  come  to  me  on  ocean  or  on  shore. 
I  know  not  where  His  islands  lift  their  fronded  palms  in  air ; 
I  only  know  I  cannot  drift  beyond  His  love  and  care. 


Modest  and  shy  as  a  nun  is  she  ;  one  weak  chirp  is  her  only  note  : 
Braggart  and  prince  of  braggarts  is  he,  pouring  boasts  from  his  little  throat. 


Back,  ruffians  !  back  !  nor  dare  to  tread 
Too  near  the  body  of  my  dead. 


—  Wake  !  oh,  wake  !  and  utter  praise  ! 

Who  sank  thy  sunless  pillars  deep  in  earth  ? 

Who  filled  thy  countenance  with  rosy  light  ? 

Who  made  thee  parent  of  perpetual  streams  ? 
Mont  Blanc.  Coleridge. 

Oh,  and  proudly  stood  she  up  !     Her  heart  within  her  did  not  fail  : 
She  looked  into  Lord  Ronald's  eyes,  and  told  him  all  her  nurse's  tale. 


The  silent  organ  loudest  chants  the  master's  requiem. 

Emerson, 

Our  birds  of  song  are  silent  now  ;  few  are  the  flowers  blooming ; 
Yet  life  is  in  the  frozen  bough,  and  Freedom's  Spring  is  coming. 

Motiey. 

Firm-paced  and  slow,  a  horrid  front  they  form,  — 
Still  as  the  breeze,  but  dreadful  as  the  storm  1 


286  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

With  foreheads  unruffled  the  conquerors  come  —  but  why  have  they  muf- 
fled the  lance  and  the  drum  ?  ...  Ye  saw  him  at  morning  how  gallant  and 
gay  !  in  bridal  adorning  the  star  of  the  day  :  now  weep  for  the  lover,  —  his 
triumph  is  sped ;  his  hope  it  is  over  !  the  chieftain  is  dead  !  But,  oh  for 
the  maiden  who  mourns  for  that  chief,  .  .  .  she  sinks  on  the  meadow,  —  in 
one  morning-tide  a  wife  and  a  widow,  a  maid  and  a  bride  ! 


Change  as  ye  list,  ye  winds  !  my  heart  shall  be 
The  faithful  compass  that  still  points  to  thee. 
Black-eyed  Susan.  Gay. 

I  've  wandered  east,  I  've  wandered  west,  through  many  a  weary  way  ; 

But  never,  never  can  forget  the  love  of  life's  young  day. 

Motherwell. 


I  told  her  how  he  pined  :  and  ah  !  the  deep,  the  low,  the  pleading  tone 
With  which  I  sang  another's  love,  interpreted  my  own. 


Too  low  they  build  who  build  below  the  stars. 


Young. 


So  nigh  is  grandeur  to  our  dust,  so  near  is  God  to  man, 
When  Duty  whispers  low,  Thou  must,  the  youth  replies,  I  can. 

Emerson. 

The  bee  to  the  heather,  the  lark  to  the  sky,  the  roe  to  the  greenwood,  and 
whither  shall  I  ?  Oh,  Alice  !  ah,  Alice  !  so  sweet  to  the  bee  are  the  moor- 
land and  heather  by  Cannock  and  Leigh !  Oh,  Alice !  ah,  Alice  !  o'er 
Teddesley  Park  the  sunny  sky  scatters  the  notes  of  the  lark  !  Oh,  Alice  ! 
ah,  Alice  !  in  Beaudesert  glade  the  roes  toss  their  antlers  for  joy  of  the  shade  ! 
But  Alice,  dear  Alice  !  glade,  moorland,  nor  sky  without  you  can  content  me, 
and  whither  shall  I  ?  Sir  Henry  Taylor. 

Where  shall  the  lover  rest,  whom  the  fates  sever,  from  his  true  maiden's 
breast  parted  forever  ?  Where,  through  groves  deep  and  high,  sounds  the  far 
billow,  where  early  violets  die,  under  the  willow.  There,  through  the  sum- 
mer day,  cool  streams  are  laving ;  there,  while  the  tempests  sway,  scarce  are 
boughs  waving  ;  there,  thy  rest  shalt  thou  take,  parted  forever,  never 
again  to  wake,  never,  0  never  ! 

Where  shall  the  traitor  rest,  he,  the  deceiver,  who  could  win  maiden's 
breast,  ruin,  and  leave  her  ?  In  the  lost  battle,  borne  down  by  the  flying, 
where  mingles  war's  rattle  with  groans  of  the  dying.  Her  wing  shall  the 
eagle  flap  o'er  the  false-hearted  ;  his  warm  blood  the  wolf  shall  lap  ere  life  be 
parted.  Shame  and  dishonour  sit  by  his  grave  ever,  blessing  shall  hallow  it 
never,  0  never  !  Scott. 


THE    LADIES    OF   ST.    JAMES'S.  287 

Roll  on,  and  with  thy  rolling  crust 

That  round  thy  poles  thou  twirlest, 
Roll  with  thee,  Earth!   this  grain  of  dust, 

As  through  the  Vast  thou  whirlest  : 
On,  on  through  zones  of  dark  and  light 

Still  waft  me,  blind  and  reeling, 
Around  the  Sun,  and  with  his  flight 

In  wilder  orbits  wheeling.  Tennyson, 


THE  LADIES  OF  ST.  JAMES'S. 
A   PROPER  NEW   BALLAD   OF  THE  COUNTRY  AND   THE  TOWN. 

The  ladies  of  St.  James's  go  swinging  to  the  play  ; 

Their  footmen  run  before  them,  with  a  "  Stand  by  !    Clear  the  way  ! ,: 
But  Phyllida,  my  Phyilida  !  she  takes  her  buckled  shoon, 

When  we  go  out  a-courtiug  beneath  the  harvest  moon. 

The  ladies  of  St.  James's  wear  satin  on  their  backs  ; 

They  sit  all  night  at  Ombre,  with  candles  all  of  wax: 
But  Phyllida,  my  Phyllida!   she  dons  her  russet  gown, 

And  runs  to  gather  May  dew  before  the  world  is  down. 

The  ladies  of  St.  James's  !   they  are  so  fine  and  fair, 
You  'd  think  a  box  of  essences  was  broken  in  the  air  : 

But  Phyllida,  my  Phyllida  !   the  breath  of  heath  and  furze, 
When  breezes  blow  at  morning,  is  not  so  fresh  as  hers. 

The  ladies  of  St.  James's  !  they  're  painted  to  the  eyes  ; 

Their  white  it  stays  for  ever,  their  red  it  never  dies  : 
But  Phyllida,  my  Phyllida  !   her  color  comes  and  goes  ; 

It  trembles  to  a  lily,  —  it  wavers  to  a  rose. 

The  ladies  of  St.  James's  !   You  scarce  can  understand 
The  half  of  all  their  speeches,  their  phrases  are  so  grand : 

But  Phyllida,  my  Phyllida  !   her  shy  and  simple  words 
Are  clear  as  after  rain-drops  the  music  of  the  birds. 

The  ladies  of  St.  James's  !   they  have  their  fits  and  freaks  ; 

They  smile  on  you  —  for  seconds,  they  frown  on  you  —  for  weeks  : 
But  Phyllida,  my  Phyllida  !    come  either  storm  or  shine, 

From  Shrove-tide  unto  Shrove-tide,  is  always  true  —  and  mine. 

My  Phyllida  !  my  Phyllida  !   I  care  not  though  they  heap 
The  hearts  of  all  St.  James's,  and  give  me  all  to  keep  ; 

I  care  not  whose  the  beauties  of  all  the  world  may  be, 
For  Phyllida  —  for  Phyllida  is  all  the  world  to  me  ! 

Austin  Dobson, 


288  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

There  rolls  the  deep  where  grew  the  tree. 

O  Earth,  what  changes  hast  thou  seen  ! 

There  where  the  long  street  roars,  hath  been 
The  stillness  of  the  central  sea. 
The  hills  are  shadows,  and  they  flow 

From  form  to  form,  and  nothing  stands  ; 

They  melt  like  mist,  the  solid  lands, 
Like  clouds  they  shape  themselves  and  go. 


GENEVIEVE. 

Maid  of  my  Love,  sweet  Genevieve  ! 

In  Beauty's  light  you  glide  along  ; 

Your  eye  is  like  the  star  of  eve, 

And  sweet  your  Voice  as  Seraph's  song. 

Yet  not  your  heavenly  Beauty  gives 

This  heart  with  passion  soft  to  glow  : 

"Within  your  soul  a  Voice  there  lives  ! 

It  bids  you  hear  the  tale  of  Woe. 

When  sinking  low  the  Sufferer  wan 

Beholds  no  hand  outstretch'd  to  save, 

Fair,  as  the  bosom  of  the  Swan 

That  rises  graceful  o'er  the  wave, 

I  've  seen  your  breast  with  pity  heave, 

And  therefore  love  I  you,  sweet  Genevieve  ! 

Coleridge. 

SONG. 

Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind,  thou  art  not  so  unkind  as  man's  ingrati- 
tude ;  thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen,  because  thou  art  not  seen,  although  thy 
breath  be  rude. 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky,  that  dost  not  bite  so  nigh  as  benefits  for- 
got :  though  thou  the  waters  warp,  thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp,  as  friend 
remembered  not. 

Heigh,  ho !  sing,  heigh,  ho  !  unto  the  green  holly  :  most  friendship  is 
feigning,  most  loving  mere  folly:  then,  heigh,  ho!  the  holly!  this  life  is 
most  jolly.  Shakespeare. 

THE  LIGHT  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 

Oft  in  the  stilly  night  ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me,  fond  Memory 
brings  the  light  of  other  days  around  me  :  the  smiles,  the  tears  of  boyhood's 
years,  the  words  of  love  then  spoken  ;  the  eyes  that  shone,  now  dimm'd  and 
gone,  the  cheerful  hearts  now  broken  !  Thus  in  the  stilly  night  ere  slumber's 
chain  has  bound  me,  sad  Memory  brings  the  light  of  other  days  around  me. 


VOCAL  EXPRESSION.  289 

"When  I  remember  all  the  friends  so  link'd  together  I  Ve  seen  around  me 
fall  like  leaves  in  wintry  weather,  I  feel  like  one  who  treads  alone  some  ban- 
quet-hall deserted,  whose  lights  are  fled,  whose  garlands  dead,  and  all  but  he 
departed  I     Thus  in  the  stilly  night  ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me,  sad 

Memory  brings  the  light  of  other  days  around  me. 

Moore. 


We  wander'd  underneath  the  young  gray  dawn, 
And  multitudes  of  dense  white  fleecy  clouds 
Were  wandering  in  thick  flocks  along  the  mountains, 
Shepherded  by  the  slow,  unwilling  wind. 


0  Rome  !  my  country  !  city  of  the  soul ! 

The  orphans  of  the  heart  must  turn  to  thee, 

Lone  Mother  of  dead  empires  !  and  control 

In  their  shut  breasts  their  petty  misery. 

What  are  our  woes  and  sufferance  ?    Come  and  see 

The  cypress,  hear  the  owl,  and  plod  your  way 

O'er  steps  of  broken  thrones  and  temples,  ye  ! 

Whose  agonies  are  evils  of  a  day  ! 

A  world  is  at  our  feet  as  fragile  as  our  clay. 

The  Niobe  of  nations!  there  she  stands, 

Childless  and  crownless,  in  her  voiceless  woe, 

An  empty  urn  within  her  withered  hands, 

Whose  holy  dust  was  scattered  long  ago. 

The  Scipios'  tomb  contains  no  ashes  now; 

The  very  sepulchres  lie  tenantless 

Of  their  heroic  dwellers:  dost  thou  flow, 

Old  Tiber,  through  a  marble  wilderness  ? 

Rise,  with  thy  yellow  waves,  and  mantle  her  distress  ! 

•  Byron 

We  have  not  wings,  we  cannot  soar  ; 

But  we  have  feet  to  scale  and  climb 

By  slow  degrees,  by  more  and  more, 

The  cloudy  summits  of  our  time. 

Longfellow 


By  wells  and  rills,  in  medowes  greene, 
We  nightly  sing  our  heydey  guise  ; 
And  to  our  fairy  king  and  queene 
We  chant  our  moonlight  minstrelsies  : 
When  larks  'gin  sing,  away  we  fling ; 
And  babes  new-borne  steal  as  we  go, 
And  elfe  in  bed  we  leave  instead, 
And  wend  us  laughing,  ho,  ho,  ho  ! 
19 


290  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Hark  !  hark  !  the  lark  at  Heaven's  gate  sings, 

And  Phoebus  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chalieed  flowers  that  lies  ; 
And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes  ; 
With  everything  that  pretty  bin, 

My  lady  sweet,  arise  ! 

Arise  !  arise  ! 
Cymbeline.  Shakespeare. 

New  voices  come  to  me  where'er  I  roam  ; 

My  heart,  too,  widens  with  its  widening  home : 

The  former  songs  seem  little  ;  yet  no  more 

Can  soul,  hand,  voice,  with  interchanging  lore, 

Tell  what  the  earth  is  saying  unto  me  : 

The  secret  is  too  great.  George  Eliot. 


In  a  valiant  suffering  for  others,  not  in  a  slothful  making  of  others  suffer 
for  us,  did  nobleness  ever  lie.  Every  noble  crown  is,  and  on  Earth  will  ever 
be,  a  crown  of  thorns.  Carlyle. 

THE  THREE  FISHERS. 

Three  fishers  went  sailing  out  into  the  West  — 

Out  into  the  West  as  the  sun  went  down  ; 
Each  thought  of  the  woman  who  loved  him  the  best, 

And  the  children  stood  watching  them  out  of  the  town  : 
For  men  must  work,  and  women  must  weep  ; 
And  there  's  little  to  earn,  and  many  to  keep, 

Though  the  harbor  bar  be  moaning. 

Three  wives  sat  up  in  the  light-house  tower 

And  trimmed  the  lamps  as  the  sun  went  down  ; 

And  they  looked  at  the  squall,  and  they  looked  at  the  shower, 
And  the  rack  it  came  rolling  up,  ragged  and  brown. 

But  men  must  work,  and  women  must  weep, 

Though  storms  be  sudden  and  waters  deep, 
And  the  harbor  bar  be  moaning. 

Three  corpses  lay  out  on  the  shining  sands 

In  the  morning  gleam  as  the  tide  went  down, 

And  the  women  are  watching  and  wringing  their  hands 
For  those  who  will  never  come  back  to  the  town  : 

For  men  must  work,  and  women  must  weep  — 

And  the  sooner  it 's  over,  the  sooner  to  sleep  — 

And  good-bye  to  the  bar  and  its  moaning. 

Charles  Kingdey. 


CHRISTMAS   HYMN.  29] 

In  my  distress  I  called  upon  the  Lord,  and  cried  unto  my  God  :  he  heard 
my  voice  out  of  his  temple,  and  my  cry  before  him  came  into  his  ears.  Then 
the  earth  shook  and  trembled,  the  foundations  also  of  the  mountains  moved 
and  were  shaken,  because  he  was  wroth.  There  went  up  a  smoke  out  of  his 
nostrils,  and  fire  out  of  his  mouth  devoured :  coals  were  kindled  by  it.  He 
bowed  the  heavens  also,  and  came  down  ;  and  thick  darkness  was  under  his 
feet.  And  he  rode  upon  a  cherub  and  did  fly  :  yea,  he  flew  swiftly  upon  the 
wings  of  the  wind.  He  made  darkness  his  hiding-place,  his  pavilion  round 
about  him ;  darkness  of  waters,  thick  clouds  of  the  skies.  At  the  bright- 
ness before  him  his  thick  clouds  passed,  hailstones  and  coals  of  fire.  The 
Lord  also  thundered  in  the  heavens,  and  the  Most  High  uttered  his  voice ; 
hailstones  and  coals  of  fire.  And  he  sent  out  his  arrows,  and  scattered  them  ; 
yea,  lightnings  manifold,  and  discomfited  them.  Then  the  channels  of  waters 
appeared,  and  the  foundations  of  the  earth  were  laid  bare,  at  thy  rebuke, 
0  Lord,  at  the  blast  of  the  breath  of  thy  nostrils.  He  sent  from  on  high, 
he  took  me ;  he  drew  me  out  of  many  waters.  He  delivered  me  from  my 
strong  enemy,  and  from  them  that  hated  me ;  for  they  were  too  mighty  for 
me.  They  came  upon  me  in  the  day  of  my  calamity:  but  the  Lord  was 
my  stay. 

From  Psalm  xviii. 


CHRISTMAS  HYMN. 

It  was  the  calm  and  silent  night ! 

Seven  hundred  years  and  fifty-three 
Had  Rome  been  growing  up  to  might, 

And  now  was  Queen  of  land  and  sea. 
No  sound  was  heard  of  clashing  wars  ; 

Peace  brooded  o'er  the  hushed  domain  ; 
Apollo,  Pallas,  Jove,  and  Mars, 

Held  undisturb'd  their  ancient  reign, 

In  the  solemn  midnight 

Centuries  ago. 

'T  was  in  the  calm  and  solemn  night ! 

The  senator  of  haughty  Rome 
Impatient  urged  his  chariot's  flight, 

From  lordly  revel  rolling  home. 
Triumphal  arches  gleaming  swell 

His  breast  with  thoughts  of  boundless  sway  ; 
What  re'ck'd  the  Roman  what  befell 

A  paltry  province  far  away, 

In  the  solemn  midnight 
Centuries  ago  ? 


292  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Within  that  province  far  away 

Went  plodding  home  a  weary  boor : 
A  streak  of  light  before  him  lay, 

Fall'n  through  a  half-shut  stable  door 
Across  his  path.     He  passed  —  for  nought 

Told  what  was  going  on  within  ; 
How  keen  the  stars  !  his  only  thought ; 

The  air  how  calm  and  cold  and  thin, 

In  the  solemn  midnight 

Centuries  ago. 

O  strange  indifference  !  —  low  and  high 

Drows'd  over  common  joys  and  cares  : 
The  earth  was  still  —  but  knew  not  why  ; 

The  world  was  listening  —  unawares. 
How  calm  a  moment  may  precede 

One  that  shall  thrill  the  world  forever  ! 
To  that  still  moment  none  would  heed 

Man's  doom  was  linked,  no  more  to  sever, 
In  the  solemn  midnight 
Centuries  ago. 

It  is  the  calm  and  solemn  night ! 

A  thousand  bells  ring  out,  and  throw 
Their  joyous  peals  abroad,  and  smite 

The  darkness,  charmed  and  holy  now. 
The  night  that  erst  no  name  had  worn, 

To  it  a  happy  name  is  given  ; 
For  in  that  stable  lay  new-born 
The  peaceful  Prince  of  Earth  and  Heaven, 
In  the  solemn  midnight 
Centuries  ago. 


Domett. 


DOMESTIC  ASIDES. 

I  really  take  it  very  kind  —  this  visit,  Mrs.  Skinner  — 
I  have  not  seen  you  such  an  age  —  (the  wretch  has  come  to  dinner  !) 
Your  daughters,  too  —  what  loves  of  girls  !    what  heads  for  painters'  easels  ! 
Come  here,  and  kiss  the  infant,  dears  —  (and  give  it,  p'rhaps,  the  measles  !) 

Your  charming  boys  I  see  are  home  from  Reverend  Mr.  Russell's  — 

'T  was  very  kind  to  bring  them  both  —  (what  boots  for  my  new  Brussels  !) 

What  !  little  Clara  left  at  home  ?  well,  now,  I  call  that  shabby  ! 

I  should  have  loved  to  kiss  her  so —  (a  flabby,  dabby  babby!) 


keenan's  charge.  293 

And  Mr.  S.,  I  hope  he 's  well  ?  but,  though  he  lives  so  handy, 
He  never  once  drops  in  to  sup  —  (the  better  for  our  brandy  !) 
Come,  take  a  seat  —  1  long  to  hear  about  Matilda's  marriage  ; 
You  've  come,  of  course,  to  spend  the  day  (thank  Heaven  !  I  hear  the  carriage  !) 

What  !  must  you  go  ?  —  next  time  I  hope  you  '11  give  me  longer  measure. 

Nay,  I  shall  see  you  down  the  stairs  —  (with  most  uncommon  pleasure  !) 

Good  bye  !  good  bye  !  Kemember,  all,  next  time  you  '11  take  your  dinners  — 

(Now,  David  —  mind,  I  'm  not  at  home,  in  future,  to  the  Skinners.) 

Hood. 


KEENAN'S  CHARGE. 

The  sun  had  set ;  the  leaves  with  dew  were  wet ;  down  fell  a  bloody  dusk 
on  the  woods  that  second  of  May,  where  Stonewall's  corps,  like  a  beast  of 
prey,  tore  through  with  angry  tusk.  "They  have  trapped  us,  boys!"  rose 
from  our  flank  a  voice.  With  a  rush  of  steel  and  smoke,  on  came  the  thou- 
sands straight,  eager  as  love  and  wild  as  hate  ;  and  our  line  reeled  and  broke, 
—  broke  and  fled;  no  one  stayed—  but  the  dead  !  With  curses,  shrieks,  and 
cries,  horses,  wagons,  and  men  tumbled  back  through  the  shuddering  glen, 
and  above  us  the  fading  skies. 

There's  one  hope  still, — those  batteries  parked  on  the  hill  !  "Battery 
wheel  ['mid  the  roar] !  Pass  pieces  ;  fix  prolonge  to  fire  retiring.  Trot !  "  In 
the  panic  dire  a  bugle  rings  "Trot ! "  —  and  no  more.  The  horses  plunged,  the 
cannon  lurched  and  lunged,  to  join  the  hopeless  rout.  But  suddenly  rode  a  form 
calmly  in  front  of  the  human  storm,  with  a  stern,  commanding  shout,  "Align 
those  guns  "  [We  knew  it  was  Pleasonton's]  !  The  cannoneers  bent  to  obey, 
and  worked  with  a  will,  at  his  word  ;  and  the  black  guns  moved  as  if  they 
had  heard.  But,  ah,  the  dread  delay  !  "To  wait  is  crime  ;  0  God,  for  ten 
minutes'  time  !  "  The  general  looked  around  ;  there  Keenan  sat,  like  a  stone, 
with  his  three  hundred  horse  alone,  —  less  shaken  than  the  ground.  "  Major, 
your  men  ?  "  —  "  Are  soldiers,  General."  "  Then,  charge,  Major  !  Do  your 
best  ;  hold  the  enemy  back  at  all  cost,  till  my  guns  are  placed,  —  else  the 
army  is  lost.     You  die  to  save  the  rest  !  " 

By  the  shrouded  gleam  of  the  Western  skies  brave  Keenan  looked  in 
Pleasonton's  eyes  for  an  instant,  —  clear,  and  calm,  and  still  ;  then,  with  a 
smile,  he  said,  "I  will.  —Cavalry,  charge  !"  Not  a  man  of  them  shrank. 
Their  sharp  full  cheer,  from  rank  on  rank,  rose  joyously,  with  a  willing 
breath,  —  rose  like  a  greeting  hail  to  death.  Then  forward  they  sprang,  and 
spurred  and  clashed  ;  shouted  the  officers  crimson-sash'd  ;  rode  well  the  men, 
each  brave  as  his  fellow"  in  their  faded  coats  of  the  blue  and  yellow ;  and 
above  in  the  air,  with  an  instinct  true,  like  a  bird  of  war  their  pennon  flew. 
With  clank  of  scabbards  and  thunder  of  steeds,  and  blades  that  shine  like 
sun-lit  reeds,  and  strong  brown  faces  bravely  pale,  for  fear  their  proud  attempt 
shall  fail,  three  hundred  Pennsylvaniaus  close  on  twice  ten  thousand  foes. 


294  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Line  after  line  the  troopers  carne  to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  that  was  ring'd  with 
flame,  —  rode  in  and  sabred  and  shot  and  fell  ;  nor  came  one  back  his  wounds 
to  tell.  And  full  in  the  midst  rose  Keenan,  tall  in  the  gloom,  like  a  martyr 
awaiting  his  fall,  while  the  circle  stroke  of  his  sabre,  swung  'round  his  head, 
like  a  halo  there  luminous  hung.  Line  after  line ;  ay,  whole  platoons,  struck 
dead  in  their  saddles,  of  brave  dragoons  by  the  maddened  horses  were  onward 
borne  and  into  the  vortex  flung,  trampled  and  torn.  As  Keenan  fought  with 
his  men  side  by  side,  so  they  rode,  till  there  were  no  more  to  ride.  But  over 
them,  lying  there  shattered  and  mute,  what  deep  echo  rolls  ?  —  'T  is  a  death 
salute  from  the  cannon  in  place  ;  for,  heroes,  you  braved  your  fate  not  in 
vain :  the  army  was  saved  ! 

Over  them  now  —  year  following  year  —  over  their  graves  the  pine  cones 
fall,  and  the  whip-poor-will  chants  his  spectre  call  ;  but  they  stir  not  again, 
they  raise  no  cheer,  they  have  ceased.  But  their  glory  shall  never  cease, 
nor  their  light  be  quenched  in  the  light  of  peace  ;  for  the  rush  of  that  charge 
is  resounding  still  that  saved  the  army  at  Chancellorsville. 


THE  HUNT. 

In  the  bright  October  morning  Savoy's  duke  had  left  his  bride. 
From  the  castle,  past  the  drawbridge,  flow'd  the  hunters'  merry  tide. 
Steeds  are  neighing,  gallants  glittering,  gay  her  smiling  lord  to  greet, 
From  her  mullion'd  chamber-casement  smiles  the  Duchess  Marguerite. 
From  Vienna,  by  the  Danube,  here  she  came,  a  bride,  in  spring, 
Now  the  autumn  crisps  the  forest ;  hunters  gather,  bugles  ring. 
Hounds  are  pulling,  prickers  swearing,  horses  fret,  and  boar-spears  glance. 
Off,  —  they  sweep  the  marshy  forests,  westward  on  the  side  of  France. 
Hark  !  the  game's  on  foot  ;  they  scatter,  — down  the  forest-ridings  lone, 
Furious,  single  horsemen  gallop.     Hark  !  a  shout,  —  a  crash,  —  a  groan. 
Pale  and  breathless  came  the  hunters  —  on  the  turf  dead  lies  the  boar. 
Ah  !  the  duke  lies  stretched  beside  him  senseless,  weltering  in  his  gore. 

In  the  dull  October  evening,  down  the  leaf-strewn  forest-road, 

To  the  castle,  past  the  drawbridge,  came  the  hunters  with  their  load. 

In  the  hall,  with  sconces  blazing,  ladies  waiting  round  her  seat, 

Clothed  in  smiles,  beneath  the  dais  sate  the  Duchess  Marguerite. 

Hark  !  below  the  gates  unbarring,  tramp  of  men,  and  quick  commands. 

"  'Tis  my  lord  come  back  from  hunting,"  —  and  the  duchess  claps  her  hands. 

Slow  and  tired  came  the  hunters  ;  stopp'd  in  darkness  in  the  court. 

"  Ho  !  this  way,  ye  laggard  hunters.    To  the  hall.    What  sport !  what  sport !  " 

Slow  they  entered  with  their  master  ;  in  the  hall  they  laid  him  down. 

On  his  coat  were  leaves  and  blood-stains,  on  his  brow  an  angry  frown. 

Dead  her  princely  youthful  husband  lay  before  his  youthful  wife, 

Bloody  'neath  the  flaring  sconces  :  and  the  sight  froze  all  her  life. 


BARBARA    FRIETCHIE.  295 

In  Vienna,  by  the  Danube,  kings  bold  revel,  gallants  meet. 
Gay  of  old  amid  the  gayest  was  the  Duchess  Marguerite. 
In  Vienna,  by  the  Danube,  feast  and  dance  her  youth  beguiled  : 
Till  that  hour  she  never  sorrow'd,  but  from  then  she  never  smiled. 

The  Church  of  Brou.  Matthew  Arnold. 

Ye  sons  of  Freedom,  wake  to  glory  ! 

Hark  !  hark  !  what  myriads  bid  ye  rise  ! 
Your  children,  wives,  and  grandsires  hoary, 

Behold  their  tears  and  hear  their  cries. 


BARBARA  FRIETCHIE. 

Up  from  the  meadows  rich  with  corn,  clear  in  the  cool  September  morn, 
the  clustered  spires  of  Frederick  stand  green- walled  by  the  hills  of  Mar y land. 
Round  about  them  orchards  sweep,  apple  and  peach  tree  fruited  deep,  fair  as 
the  garden  of  the  Lord  to  the  eyes  of  the  famished  rebel  horde,  on  that  pleas- 
ant morn  of  the  early  fall  when  Lee  marched  over  the  mountain-wall,  —  over 
the  mountain  winding  down,  horse  and  foot,  into  Frederick  town. 

Forty  flags  with  their  silver  stars,  forty  flags  with  their  crimson  bars, 
flapped  in  the  morning  wind  :  the  sun  of  noon  looked  down,  and  saw  not 
one.  Up  rose  old  Barbara  Frietchie  then,  bowed  with  her  fourscore  years 
and  ten  ;  bravest  of  all  in  Frederick  town,  she  took  up  the  flag  the  men 
hauled  down  ;  in  her  attic  window  the  staff  she  set,  to  show  that  one  heart 
was  loyal  yet. 

Up  the  street  came  the  rebel  tread,  Stonewall  Jackson  riding  ahead. 
Under  his  slouched  hat  left  and  right  he  glanced  :  the  old  flag  met  his  sight. 
"Halt!" — the  dust-brown  ranks  stood  fast.  "Fire!"  —  out  blazed  the 
rifle-blast.  It  shivered  the  window,  pane  and  sash  ;  it  rent  the  banner  with 
seam  and  gash.  Quick,  as  it  fell,  from  its  broken  staff  dame  Barbara  snatched 
the  silken  scarf.  She  leaned  far  out  on  the  window-sill  and  shook  it  forth 
with  a  royal  will.  "  Shoot,  if  you  must,  this  old  gray  head,  but  spare  your 
country's  flag,"  she  said.  A  shade  of  sadness,  a  blush  of  shame,  over  the  face 
of  the  leader  came  ;  the  nobler  nature  within  him  stirred  to  life  at  that 
woman's  deed  and  word.  "  Who  touches  a  hair  of  yon  gray  head  dies  like  a 
dog  !     March  on  !  "'  he  said. 

All  day  long  through  Frederick  street  sounded  the  tread  of  marching  feet  ; 

all  day  long  that  free  flag  tost  over  the  heads  of  the  rebel  host.     Ever  its 

torn  folds  rose  and  fell  on  the  loyal  winds  that  loved  it  well ;  and  through 

the  hill-gaps  sunset  light  shone  over  it  with  a  warm  good-night.     Barbara 

Frietchie's  work  is  o'er,  and  the  Rebel  rides  on  his  raids  no  more.     Honor  to 

her  !   and  let  a  tear  fall,  for   her  sake,  on  Stonewall's  bier.     Over  Barbara 

Frietchie's  grave,  flag  of  Freedom  and  Union,  wave  !   peace  and  order   and 

beauty  draw  round  thy  symbol  of  light  and  law  ;  and  ever  the  stars  above 

look  down  on  thy  stars  below  in  Frederick  town  ! 

Whitlier. 


296  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Move  eastward,  happy  Earth  !  and  leave 
Yon  orange  sunset  waning  slow  : 

From  fringes  of  the  faded  eve, 
0  happy  planet !  eastward  go  ; 

Till  over  thy  dark  shoulder  glow 
Thy  silver  sister-world,  and  rise 
To  glass  herself  in  dewy  eyes 

That  watch  me  from  the  glen  below. 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  HESPERUS. 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus  that  sail'd  the  wintry  sea ; 
And  the  skipper  had  taken  his  little  daughter  to  bear  him  company. 
Blue  were  her  eyes  as  the  fairy-flax,  her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  day, 
And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds  that  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm,  his  pipe  was  in  his  mouth, 

And  he  watch'd  how  the  veering  flaw  did  blow  the  smoke  now  west,  now  south. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  old  sailor,  —  had  sail'd  the  Spanish  main,  — 

"  I  pray  thee,  put  into  yonder  port,  for  I  fear  a  hurricane. 

"  Last  night  the  Moon  had  a  golden  ring,  and  to-night  no  Moon  we  see  ! " 
The  skipper,  he  blew  a  whiff  from  his  pipe,  and  a  scornful  laugh  langh'd  he. 
Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind,  a  gale  from  the  north-east ; 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine,  and  the  billows  froth'd  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain  the  vessel  in  its  strength  ; 

She  shudder'd  and  paused,  like  a  frighten'd  steed,  then  leap'd  her  cable's 

length. 
"  Come  hither  !  come  hither  !  my  little  daughter,  and  do  not  tremble  so ; 
For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gale,  that  ever  wind  did  blow." 

He  wrapp'd  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coat  against  the  stinging  blast ; 

He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar,  and  bound  her  to  the  mast. 

"  0  father  !  I  hear  the  church-bells  ring,  0  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 

"  '  T  is  a  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast  ! "  and  he  steer'd  for  the  open  sea. 

"  0  father  !  I  hear  the  sound  of  guns,  0  say,  what  may  it  be  ?" 
"  Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live  in  such  an  angry  sea  ! " 
"0  father  !  I  see  a  gleaming  light,  0  say,  what  may  it  be  ?" 
But  the  father  answer'd  never  a  word,  a  frozen  corpse  was  he. 

Lash'd  to  the  helm,  all  stiff  and  stark,  with  his  face  turn'd  to  the  skies, 
The  lantern  gleam'd  through  the  gleaming  snow  on  his  fix'd  and  glassy  eyes. 
Then  the  maiden  clasp'd  her  hands  and  pray'd,  that  saved  she  might  be  ; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  still'd  the  wave  on  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 


THE   CAVALIER'S    ESCAPE.  297 

And  fast  thro'  the  midnight  dark  and  drear,  thro'  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 
Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept  towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 
And  ever,  the  fitful  gusts  between,  a  sound  came  from  the  land  ; 
It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  surf  on  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea-sand. 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows,  she  drifted  a  dreary  wreck, 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew  like  icicles  from  her  deck. 
She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves  look'd  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  side  like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheath'd  in  ice,  with  the  masts  went  by  the  board  ; 
Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank.     Ho  !  ho  !  the  breakers  roar'd  ! 
At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach,  a  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair  lash'd  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast,  the  salt  tears  in  her  eyes  ; 
And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  sea-weed,  on  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 
Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus,  in  the  midnight  and  the  snow  ! 
Christ  save  us  all  from  a  death  like  this,  on  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe  ! 

Longfellow 

THE  CAVALIER'S  ESCAPE. 

Trample  !  trample  !  went  the  roan,  trap  !  trap  !  went  the  gray ; 

But  pad  !  pad !  pad  !  like  a  thing  that  was  mad,  my  chestnut  broke  away. 

It  was  just  five  miles  from  Salisbury  town,  and  but  one  hour  to  day. 

Thud  !  thud  !  came  on  the  heavy  roan,  rap  !  rap  !  the  mettled  gray  ; 

But  my.  chestnut  mare  was  of  blood  so  rare,  that  she  showed  them  all  the  way. 

Spur  on  !  spur  on  !     I  doffed  my  hat,  and  wished  them  all  good-day. 

They  splashed  through  miry  rut  and  pool,  splintered  through  fence  and  rail ; 
But  chestnut  Kate  switched  over  the  gate  —  I  saw  them  droop  and  fail. 
To  Salisbury  town  —  but  a  mile  of  down,  once  over  this  brook  and  rail. 

Trap  !  trap  \  I  heard  their  echoing  hoofs  past  the  walls  of  mossy  stone  ; 
The  roan  flew  on  at  a  staggering  pace,  but  blood  is  better  than  bone. 
I  patted  old  Kate,  and  gave  her  the  spur,  for  I  knew  it  was  all  my  own. 

But  trample  !  trample  !  came  their  steeds,  and  I  saw  their  wolfs  eyes  burn ; 

I  felt  like  a  royal  hart  at  bay,  and  made  me  ready  to  turn. 

I  looked  where  highest  grew  the  may,  and  deepest  arched  the  fern. 

I  flew  at  the  first  knave's  sallow  throat,  — ■  one  blow,  and  he  was  down. 
The  second  rogue  fired  twice,  and  missed ;  I  sliced  the  villain's  crown. 
Clove  through  the  rest,  and  flogged  brave  Kate,  fast,  fast  to  Salisbury  town  I 

Pad  !  pad  !  they  came  on  the  level  sward,  thud  !  thud  !  upon  the  sand  ; 
With  a  gleam  of  swords,  and  a  burning  match,  and  a  shaking  of  flag  and  hand  : 
But  one  long  bound,  and  I  passed  the  gate,  safe  from  the  canting  band. 

George  Waller  Thornbury. 


298  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

To-day  my  lord  of  Amiens  and  myself 

Did  steal  behind  him,  as  he  lay  along 

Under  an  oak,  whose  antique  root  peeps  out 

Upon  the  brook  that  brawls  along  this  wood  ; 

To  the  which  place  a  poor  sequestered  stag, 

That  from  the  hunters'  aim  had  ta'en  a  hurt, 

Did  come  to  languish  ;  .  .  .  thus  the  hairy  fool, 

Much  marked  of  the  melancholy  Jaques, 

Stood  on  the  extremest  verge  of  the  swift  brook, 

"Poor  deer,"  quoth  he,  "  thou  mak'st  a  testament 

As  worldings  do,  giving  thy  sum  of  more 

To  that  which  Jiad  too  much;  "  then,  being  there  alone, 

Left  and  abandoned  of  his  velvet  friends  : 

"  '  Tis  right,"  quoth  he,  "  thus  misery  doth  part 

The  flux  of  company  ;  "  anon,  a  careless  herd, 

Full  of  the  pasture,  jumps  along  by  him, 

And  never  stays  to  greet  him  :  "Ay,"  quoth  Jaques, 

"  Sweep  on,  you  fat  and  greasy  citizens  ; 

'  T  is  just  the  fashion :  wherefore  do  you  look 

Upon  that  poor  and  broken  bankrupt  there  ?  " 

Thus  most  invectively  he  pierceth  through 

The  body  of  the  country,  city,  court, 

Yea,  and  of  this  our  life  ;  swearing  that  we 

Are  mere  usurpers,  tyrants,  and  what 's  worse, 

To  fright  the  animals,  and  to  kill  them  up, 

In  their  assigned  and  native  dwelling-place. 

Shakespeare, 

ADAM  AND  ORLANDO. 

Orlando.     "Who  's  there  ? 

Adam.     What,  my  young  master  ?  —  O  my  gentle  master ' 
O  my  sweet  master  !     0  you  memory 
Of  old  Sir  Rowland  !  why,  what  make  you  here  ? 
Why  are  you  virtuous  ?     Why  do  people  love  you  ? 
And  wherefore  are  you  gentle,  strong,  and  valiant  ? 
Why  would  you  be  so  fond  to  overcome 
The  bony  priser  of  the  humorous  duke  ? 
Your  praise  is  come  too  swiftly  home  before  you. 
Know  you  not,  master,  to  some  kind  of  men 
Their  graces  serve  them  but  as  enemies  ? 
No  more  do  yours  :  your  virtues,  gentle  master, 
Are  sanctified  and  holy  traitors  to  you. 
Oh,  what  a  world  is  this,  when  what  is  comely 
Envenoms  him  that  bears  it  ! 


ADAM   AND    ORLANDO.  299 

Orl.    Why,  what 's  the  matter  ? 

Adam.  O  unhappy  youth, 

Come  not  within  these  doors  ;  within  this  roof 
The  enemy  of  all  your  graces  lives. 
Your  brother  —  (no,  no  brother  ;  yet  the  son  — 
Yet  not  the  son  —  I  will  not  call  him  son 
Of  him  I  was  about  to  call  his  father),  — 
Hath  heard  your  praises  ;  and  this  night  he  means 
To  burn  the  lodging  where  you  used  to  lie, 
And  you  within  it :  if  he  fail  of  that, 
He  will  have  other  means  to  cut  you  off : 
I  overheard  him,  and  his  practices. 
This  is  no  place  ;  this  house  is  but  a  butchery : 
Abhor  it,  fear  it,  do  not  enter  it. 

Orl.    "Why,  whither,  Adam,  wouldst  thou  have  me  go  ? 

Adam.     No  matter  whither,  so  you  come  not  here. 

Orl.     What !  wouldst  thou  have  me  go  and  beg  my  food  ? 
Or  with  a  base  and  boist'rous  sword  enforce 
A  thievish  living  on  the  common  road  ? 
This  I  must  do,  or  know  not  what  to  do : 
Yet  this  I  will  not  do,  do  how  I  can  ; 
I  rather  will  subject  me  to  the  malice 
Of  a  diverted  blood,  and  bloody  brother. 

Adam.     But  do  not  so.     I  have  five  hundred  crowns, 
The  thrifty  hire  I  saved  under  your  father, 
Which  I  did  store,  to  be  my  fostef-nurse 
When  service  should  in  my  old  limbs  lie  lame, 
And  unregarded  age  in  corners  thrown  : 
Take  that  ;  and  He  that  doth  the  ravens  feed, 
Yea,  providently  caters  for  the  sparrow, 
Be  comfort  to  my  age  !     Here  is  the  gold  ; 
All  this  I  give  you,     Let  me  be  your  servant : 
Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty ; 
For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood, 
Nor  did  not  with  unbashful  forehead  woo 
The  means  of  weakness  and  debility  ; 
Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter, 
Frosty,  but  kindly  :  let  me  go  with  you  ; 
I  *11  do  the  service  of  a  younger  man 
In  all  your  business  and  necessities. 

Orl.     0  good  old  man,  how  well  in  thee  appears 
The  constant  service  of  the  antique  world, 


300  VOCAL    EXPRESSION. 

When  service  sweat  for  duty,  not  for  meed ! 
Thou  art  not  for  the  fashion  of  these  times, 
Where  none  will  sweat  but  for  promotion  ; 
And  having  that,  do  choke  their  service  up 
Even  with  the  having  :  it  is  not  so  with  thee. 
But,  poor  old  man,  thou  prun'st  a  rotten  tree, 
That  cannot  so  much  as  a  blossom  yield, 
In  lieu  of  all  thy  pains  and  husbandry. 
But  come  thy  ways  ;  we  '11  go  along  together  ; 
And  ere  we  have  thy  youthful  wages  spent, 
We  '11  light  upon  some  settled  low  content. 

Adam.     Master,  go  on,  and  I  will  follow  thee, 
To  the  last  gasp,  with  truth  and  loyalty.  — 
From  seventeen  years,  till  now  almost  fourscore, 
Here  lived  I,  but  now  live  here  no  more. 
At  seventeen  years  many  their  fortunes  seek ; 
But  at  fourscore  it  is  too  late  a  week  ; 
Yet  fortune  cannot  recompense  me  better 
Than  to  die  well,  and  not  my  master's  debtor. 


Shakespeare. 


PAIN  IN  A  PLEASURE  BOAT. 


Boatman.  Shove  off  there  !  —  ship  the  rudder,  Bill  —  cast  off !  she 's  under 

way  ! 
Mrs.  F.   She 's  under  what  ?  —  I  hope  she 's  not !  good  gracious,  what  a  sprayl 
B.   Run  out  the  jib,  and  rig  the  boom  !  keep  clear  of  those  two  brigs  ! 
M.    I  hope  they  don't  intend  some  joke  by  running  of  their  rigs  ! 
B.   Bill,  shift  them  bags  of  ballast  aft  —  she 's  rather  out  of  trim  ! 
M.   Great  bags  of  stones  !  they  're  pretty  things  to  help  a  boat  to  swim  ! 
B.   The  wind  is  fresh  —  if  she  don't  scud,  it 's  not  the  breeze's  fault  1 
M.    Wind  fresh,  indeed  !  I  never  felt  the  air  so  full  of  salt  ! 
JS.   That  schooner,  Bill,  harn't  left  the  roads,  with  oranges  and  nuts. 
M.   If  seas  have  roads,  they  're  very  rough  —  I  never  felt  such  ruts  ! 
B.    It 's  neap,  ye  see,  she  's  heavy  lade,  and  could  n't  pass  the  bar. 
M.    The  bar  !  what,  roads  with  turnpikes  too  ?  I  wonder  where  they  are  t 
B.    Ho  !  Brig  ahoy  !  hard  up  !  hard  up  !  that  lubber  cannot  steer  I 
M.    Yes,  yes  —  hard  up  upon  5  rock  !     I  know  some  danger 's  near ! 

Lord,  there  *s  a  wave  !  it 's  coming  in  !  and  roaring  like  a  bull ! 
B.   Nothing,  ma'am,  but  a  little  slop  !     Go  large,  Bill  !  keep  her  full  ! 
M.    What,  keep  her  full !  what  daring  work  !  when  full,  she  must  go  down  ! 
B.  Why,  Bill,  it  lulls  !  ease  off  a  bit  —  it 's  coming  off  the  town  ! 

Steady  your  helm  !  we  '11  clear  the  Pint  I  lay  right  for  yonder  pink  ! 
M.    Be  steady  —  well,  I  hope  they  can  !  but  they  've  got  a  pint  of  drink  ! 


hotspur's  defence.  301 

B.    Bill,  give  that  sheet  another  haul  —  she  '11  fetch  it  up  this  reach. 
M.    I  'm  getting  rather  pale,  I  know,  and  they  know  it  by  that  speech  ! 

I  wonder  what  it  is,  now,  but  —  I  never  felt  so  queer  ! 
B.    Bill,  mind  your  luff  —  why,  Bill,  I  say,  she 's  yawing  —  keep  her  near  ! 
M.    Keep  near  !  we  're  going  farther  off  ;  the  land 's  behind  our  backs. 
B.    Be  easy,  ma'am,  it 's  all  correct,  that 's  only  'cause  we  tacks  ; 

We  shall  have  to  beat  about  a  bit  —  Bill,  keep  her  out  to  sea. 

M.    Beat  who  about  ?  keep  who  at  sea  ?  —  how  black  they  look  at  me  ! 

B.   It 's  veering  round  —  I  knew  it  would  !  off  with  her  head  !  stand  by  ! 

M.   Off  with  her  head  !  whose  ?  where  ?  what  with  ?  —  an  axe  I  seem  to  spy  ! 

B.   She  can't  keep  her  own,  you  see  ;  we  shall  have  to  pull  her  in  ! 

M.    They  '11  drown  me,  and  take  all  I  have  !  my  life 's  not  worth  a  pin  ! 

B.    Look  out,  you  know,  be  ready,  Bill  —  just  when  she  takes  the  sand  ! 

M.  The  sand  —  0  Lord  !  to  stop  my  mouth  !  how  everything  is  planned  ! 

B.   The  handspike,  Bill  —  quick,  bear  a  hand  !  now,  ma'am,  just  step  ashore  ! 

M.   What  !  ain't  I  going  to  be  killed  —  and  weltered  in  my  gore  ? 

Well,  Heaven  be  praised  !  but  I  '11  not  go  a-sailing  any  more  ! 

Hood. 


HOTSPUR'S  DEFENCE. 

My  liege,  I  did  deny  no  prisoners, 
But,  I  remember,  when  the  fight  was  done, 
When  I  was  dry  with  rage,  and  extreme  toil, 
Breathless  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 
Came  there  a  certain  lord,  neat,  trimly  dress'd, 
Fresh  as  a  bridegroom  ;  and  his  chin  new  reap'd, 
Show'd  like  a  stubble-land  at  harvest-home  ; 
He  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner ; 
And  'twixt  his  finger  and  thumb  he  held 
A  pouncet-box  which  ever  and  anon 
He  gave  his  nose,  and  took 't  away  again  ;  — 
Who,  therewith  angry,  when  it  next  came  there, 
Took  it  in  snuff ;  —  and  still  he  smil'd  and  talk'd  ; 
And,  as  the  soldiers  bore  dead  bodies  by, 
He  called  them  — untaught  knaves,  unmannerly, 
To  bring  a  slovenly  unhandsome  corse 
Betwixt  the  wind  and  his  nobility. 
With  many  holyday  and  lady  terms 
He  question'd  me  ;  among  the  rest  demanded 
My  prisoners,  in  your  majesty's  behalf. 
I  then,  all  smarting,  with  my  wounds  being  cold, 
To  be  so  pester*  d  with  a  popinjay, 


302  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Out  of  my  grief  and  ray  impatience, 
Answer'd  neglectingly,  I  know  not  what ; 
He  should,  or  he  should  not  ;  —  for  he  made  me  mad 
To  see  him  shine  so  brisk,  and  smell  so  sweet, 
And  talk  so  like  a  waiting  gentlewoman, 
Of  guns,  and  drums,  and  wounds  (God  save  the  mark  !), 
And  telling  me,  the  sovereign'st  thing  on  earth 
Was  parmaceti  for  an  inward  bruise ; 
And  that  it  was  great  pity,  so  it  was, 
That  villanous  saltpetre  should  be  digg'd 
Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth, 
"Which  many  a  good  tall  fellow  had  destroyed 
So  cowardly ;  and  but  for  these  vile  guns, 
He  would  himself  have  been  a  soldier. 
This  bald,  disjointed  chat  of  his,  my  lord, 
I  answer'd  indirectly,  as  I  said  ; 
And  I  beseech  you,  let  not  his  report 
Come  current  for  an  accusation, 
Betwixt  my  love  and  your  high  majesty. 
Henry  IV.  Part  I.  Shakespeare 

'TWIXT  AXE  AND  CROWN 

Elizabeth.    Methinks  I  see  my  England,  like  the  eagle, 
Pruning  her  unchained  wing  for  freer  flight, 
Fuller  in  focus  of  the  glorious  sun 
Than  e'er  she  flew  till  now.     Great  deeds,  great  words, 
That  make  great  deeds  still  greater  !     Poesy 
Fired  with  new  life  ;  her  soldiers  conquering, 
Her  sailors  braving  unknown  seas,  to  plant 
The  germ  of  a  new  England  in  the  West  — 
Acorn,  it  may  be,  of  a  daughter  oak, 
Broader  and  stronger  than  the  parent  tree  ! 
But  I  speak  wildly,  yet  speak  what  I  think, 
As  friend  may  speak  to  friend,  and  not  be  chidden. 

Paget.    Ashes  of  age  are  gray  upon  my  head. 
Methought  they  had  smothered  my  heart's  fires  as  well : 
But  something  glows  beneath  them,  hearing  you. 
May  Heaven  speed  the  good  time,  and  guard  you,  madam, 
To  make  our  England  great  and  glorious 
In  man's  deeds,  as  your  words.     For  what  't  is  now 
I  lay  most  charge  upon  the  Spanish  match. 
Pray  Heaven  your  Highness  lend  no  ear  to  those 
That  work  on  you  to  wed  a  foreign  prince. 


'TWIXT   AXE   AND    CROWN.  303 

Eliz.    Elizabeth  mates  not  —  or  she  mates  in  England. 
I  have  a  vow  for  that. 

Paget.  Heaven  grant  you  keep  it, 

And  me  to  bless  your  mating,  when  it  come. 
And  now,  farewell,  sweet  lady.     I  will  take 
Much  comfort  to  our  friends  from  this  good  news 
Of  your  fair  health  and  firm  fix'd  resolution. 

[He  bows,  kisses  her  hand,  and  exit 

Eliz.  Fare  you  well ! 

Ah,  Courtenay,  he  dreams  not  that  't  is  love's  vow 
I  hold,  not  policy's  !  Oh,  my  true  lord, 
How  heavy  drags  the  time,  waiting  for  thee  ! 
Three  whole  months,  and  no  tidings  !     I  am  sick 
Of  longing  for  his  letter  — ■  but  this  audience 
Of  Master  Renard.     I  see  in  his  coming 
111  omen  to  my  peace  ;  but  I  am  armed, 
I  think,  against  him,  and  all  enemies, 
With  love  and  loyalty  for  talisman.         [Enter  Renard  and  three  of  his  suite. 

Renard.    [Kneeling.  ]    Most  gracious  lady  ! — .' .   . 
There  's  nothing  stands  between  the  crown  and  you 
But  a  few  sad  hours  of  a  sick  Queen's  life  — 
Which,  let 's  pray,  may  be  mercifully  shortened  ! 
It  is  that  crown  Philip  would  help  you  bear 
With  strength  of  policy  and  stay  of  love. 

Eliz.    [With  bitter  irony.]    Even  such  love  as  he  has  showed  my  sister, 
Turning  from  her  untended  bed  of  death 

With  this  unnatural  tender  of  his  hand  !         [  With  contempt,  rising  to  wrath. 
Say,  did  you  take  me  for  a  fool  or  beast  ? 
A  monster  without  brains  or  without  heart  ? 
To  come  to  me  —  you,  and  your  worthy  master, 
With  offers  so  accursed,  and  gifts  so  vile  ! 
Out  of  my  sight,  lest  I  forget  my  sex 
And  strike  thee  ! 

Ren.  Have  a  care,  my  passionate  madam. 

The  Queen  still  lives,  and  a  Queen's  dying  arm 
Can  strike,  when  others  guide.     Even  now  a  warrant 
Of  treason  hangs  suspended  o'er  your  head. 

Eliz.  Treason ! 

Ren.    Aye,  treason.     Courtenay  is  in  England  — 
Has  raised  all  Suffolk,  in  your  name  and  his. 
His  treason  is  your  treason  ;  the  first  stroke 
That  Courtenay  strikes  finds  echo  in  the  fall 
Of  your  head  on  the  scaffold  1 


304  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Eliz.  So  be  it  ! 

When  Courtenay  strikes  that  blow,  let  my  head  fall. 
My  life  upon  his  loyalty  ! 

Ben.  You  hare  staked 

And  lost  !     Without  there  !  [One  of  his  suite  advances. 

This  to  Lord  Chandos  !     [Gives  warrant.]  .  .  .  [Enter  Sussex. 

Eliz.  My  Lord  of  Sussex  !     [Sussex  kneels. 

Rise,  my  good  lord  !     Your  face  of  gloom  but  tells 
What  we  have  heard  already  —  the  Queen 's  dead. 

Sussex.   The  Queen  ne'er  dies,  and  so  long  live  the  Queen  ! 

Eliz.   You  come  in  time  ;  an  hour,  and  you  had  met  us, 
Escorted  to  the  tower. 

Sussex.  The  Tower  ? 

Eliz.  For  treason  — 

In  aiding  and  abetting  Edward  Courtenay, 
Who,  Master  Renard  late  declared,  has  landed 
And  risen  in  arms  in  Suffolk. 

Sussex.  So  't  was  bruited. 

Eliz.   But 't  is  not  true  ? 

Sussex.  No.  'T  was  one  Thomas  Cleobury, 

Who  took  my  Lord  of  Devonshire's  arms  and  title. 
His  levies  are  dispersed,  and  himself  ta'en. 

Eliz.    Ha  !  said  I  not  ?    Courtenay  was  not  in  England  ! 
See  a  post  straight  dispatched  to  him  at  Padua. 
We  would  he  first  had  news  of  our  accession. 

Sussex.    My  liege,  no  post  can  reach  him  now  ! 

Eliz.  What  mean  you  ? 

Sussex.  He  is  dead. 

Eliz.  Dead  !  Nay,  my  Lord, 

Here  's  too  much  death  :  one  death  that  crowns  a  queen, 
And  one  that  robs  a  woman's  heart  of  more 
Than  crowns  can  give.     Dead  !  When  ?  Where  ?  tell  me  all. 

Sussex.    He  died  at  Padua.     His  servants  brought 
The  tidings  to  the  court  just  as  I  left. 

Eliz.    Dead  !     Was  there  naught  —  no  word  for  me  —  no  token  ? 

Sussex.    Pardon,  madam. 

This  ring  and  letter  —  [Holds  them  out 

Eliz.  [Passionately  grasping  them.]    And  thou  keep'st  them  from  me, 
And  let  'st  me  prate  and  pule  when  I  might  hold 
Something  he  has  touched,  and  breathed  upon, 

And  wanned  with  his  last  breath  of  dying  love  !  [Looking  at  the,  letter. 

True  friend  !  lost  lord  !  sole  love  !  't  is  thy  dear  hand  ; 
And  these  blurred  spots  are  tears  methinks  —  or  kisses. 
Thus  let  me  put  my  tears  and  kisses  to  them.  [Kisses  letter. 


UP  AT  A   VILLA  —  DOWN   IN   THE   CITY.  305 

Thus  only  are  we  fated  to  be  joined. 

[Beads.]   Dear  love  and  lady,  —  When  thou  read'st  these  lines 
The  hand  that  scarce  can  trace  them  will  be  cold. 
My  last  breath  went  to  pray  all  blessings  on  thee : 
For  thee  my  heart  beat,  till  it  beat  no  more. 
They  that  severed  hauds  have  wedded  souls : 
We  are  one  now  and  forever  —  aye,  one  now  — 

And  ever —  and  no  separation  more  !      [Sinks  into  cliair.    Burst  of  trumpets. 

What 's  that  ?         [Enter  Harrington. 

Harrington.     The  Lords  of  the  Council  and  the  great  ones 
Of  the  City  come  to  hail  their  gracious  Queen  Elizabeth. 

Eliz.     [Sadly.] —  What  love  is  left  to  me  now 
But  their  love  ?    What  to  live  for  but  to  make 
Them  happier  than  their  Queen  can  ever  be.        [Trumpets.     Enter  procession. 

Omnes  [Kneeling].     Long  live  Elizabeth  !     Long  live  the  Queen  ! 

Eliz.  [Rising  with  great  emotion  —  lays  her  hand  upon  the  crown.] 

Great  King  of  Kings  !  't  is  thou  hast  willed  it  me. 

Guide  me  that  I  may  wear  it,  by  thy  will.  [Trumpets  and  cJiecrimj. 

Taylor. 

UP  AT  A  VILLA  — DOWN  IN  THE  CITY. 
[As  distinguished  by  an  Italian  Person  of  Quality.] 

Had  I  but  plenty  of  money,  money  enough  and  to  spare, 
The  house  for  me,  no  doubt,  were  a  house  in  the  city-square  ; 
Ah,  such  a  life,  such  a  life,  as  one  leads  at  the  window  there  ! 

Something  to  see,  by  Bacchus,  something  to  hear,  at  least  ! 

There,  the  whole  day  long,  one's  life  is  a  perfect  feast ; 

While  up  at  a  villa  one  lives,  I  maintain  it,  no  more  than  a  beast. 

Well  now,  look  at  our  villa  !  stuck  like  the  horn  of  a  bull 

Just  on  a  mountain's  edge  as  bare  as  the  creature's  skull, 

Save  a  mere  shag  of  a  bush  with  hardly  a  leaf  to  pull  ! 

—  I  scratch  my  own,  sometimes,  to  see  if  the  hair 's  turned  wool. 

But  the  city,  oh  the  city  —  the  square  with  the  houses  !   Why  ? 

They  are  stone-faced,  white  as  a  curd,  there 's  something  to  take  the  eye  ! 

Houses  in  four  straight  lines,  not  a  single  front  awry  ! 

You  watch  who  crosses  and  gossips,  who  saunters,  who  hurries  by  : 

Green  blinds,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  draw  when  the  sun  gets  high  ; 

And  the  shops  with  fanciful  signs  which  are  painted  properly. 

What  of  a  villa  ?     Though  winter  be  over  in  March  by  rights, 
'T  is  May  perhaps  ere  the  snow  shall  have  withered  well  off  the  heights. 
You  've  the  brown  ploughed  land  before,  where  the  oxen  steam  and  wheeze, 
And  the  hills  over-smoked  behind  by  the  faint  gray  olive  trees. 

20 


306  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

Is  it  better  in  May,  I  ask  you  ?  you  've  summer  all  at  once ; 
In  a  day  he  leaps  complete  with  a  few  strong  April  suns  ! 
'Mid  the  sharp  short  emerald  wheat,  scarce  risen  three  fingers  well, 
The  wild  tulip,  at  end  of  its  tube,  blows  out  its  great  red  bell, 
Like  a  thin  clear  bubble  of  blood,  for  the  children  to  pick  and  sell. 

Is  it  ever  hot  in  the  square  ?    There  's  a  fountain  to  spout  and  splash  ! 
In  the  shade  it  sings  and  springs  ;  in  the  shine  such  foam-bows  flash 
On  the  horses  with  curling  fish-tails,  that  prance  and  paddle  and  pash 
Round  the  lady  atop  in  the  conch  —  fifty  gazers  do  not  abash, 
Though  all  that  she  wears  is  some  weeds  round  her  waist  in  a  sort  of  sash  ! . 

All  the  year  long  at  the  villa,  nothing  's  to  see  though  you  linger, 

Except  yon  cypress  that  points  like  Death's  lean  lifted  forefinger. 

Some  think  fireflies  pretty,  when  they  mix  in  the  corn  and  mingle 

Or  thrid  the  stinking  hemp  till  the  stalks  of  it  seem  a-tingle. 

Late  August  or  early  September,  the  stunning  cicala  is  shrill, 

And  the  bees  keep  their  tiresome  whine  round  the  resinous  firs  on  the  hill. 

Enough  of  the  seasons,  —  I  spare  you  the  months  of  the  fever  and  chill. 

Ere  opening  your  eyes  in  the  city,  the  blessed  church-bells  begin  : 

No  sooner  the  bells  leave  off,  than  the  diligence  rattles  in  : 

You  get  the  pick  of  the  news,  and  it  costs  you  never  a  pin. 

By  and  by  there  'sthe  travelling  doctor  gives  pills,  lets  blood,  draws  teeth  ; 

Or  the  Pulcinello-trumpet  breaks  up  the  market  beneath. 

At  the  post-office  such  a  scene-picture  —  the  new  play,  piping  hot! 

And  a  notice  how,  only  this  morning,  three  liberal  thieves  were  shot. 

Above  it,  behold  the  archbishop's  most  fatherly  of  rebukes, 

And  beneath,  with  his  crown  and  his  lion,  some  little  new  law  of  the  Duke's  ! 

Or  a  sonnet  with  flowery  marge,  to  the  Reverend  Don  So-and-so 

Who  is  Dante,  Boccaccio,  Petrarca,  Saint  Jerome,  and  Cicero, 

"And  moreover,"  (the  sonnet  goes  rhyming,)  "the  skirts  of  Saint  Paul 

has  reached, 
Having  preached  us  those  six  Lent-lectures  more  unctuous  than  ever  he 

preached." 
Noon  strikes, — here  sweeps  the  procession!  our  Lady  borne  smiling  and 

smart 
With  a  pink  gauze  gown  all  spangles,  and  seven  swords  stuck  in  her  heart  ' 
Bang,  whang,  whang,  goes  the  drum,  tootle-te-tootle  the  fife  ; 
No  keeping  one's  haunches  still :  it 's  the  greatest  pleasure  in  life. 

But  bless  you,  it 's  dear  —  it 's  dear  !  fowls,  wine,  at  double  the  rate. 
They  have  clapped  a  new  tax  upon  salt,  and  what  oil  pays  passiug  the  gate 
It 's  a  horror  to  think  of.     And  so,  the  villa  for  me,  not  the  city  ! 
Beggars  can  scarcely  be  choosers  —  but  still  —  ah,  the  pity,  the  pity  ! 


BASSANIO  AND   SHYLOCK.  307 

Look,  two  and  two  go  the  priests,  then  the  monks  with  cowls  and  sandals, 

And  the  penitents  dressed  in  white  shirts,  a-holding  the  yellow  candles. 

One,  he  carries  a  flag  up  straight,  and  another  a  cross  with  handles, 

And  the  Duke's  guard  brings  up  the  rear,   for  the  better  prevention  of 

scandals. 

Bang,  whang,  whang,  goes  the  drum,  tootle-te-tootle  the  fife. 

Oh,  a  day  in  the  city-square,  there  is  no  such  pleasure  in  life! 

Browning. 


BASSANIO  AND  SHYLOCK. 

Shylock.    Three  thousand  ducats,  —  well. 

Bassanio.    Ay,  sir,  for  three  months. 

Shy.   For  three  months,  —  well. 

Bass.    For  the  which,  as  I  told  you,  Antonio  shall  be  bound. 

Shy.    Antonio  shall  be  bound,  —  well. 

Bass.  May  you  stead  me  ?  Will  you  pleasure  me  ?  Shall  I  know  youi 
answer  ? 

Shy.    Three  thousand  ducats  for  three  months,  and  Antonio  bound. 

Bass.    Your  answer  to  that. 

Shy.    Antonio  is  a  good  man. 

Bass.    Have  you  heard  any  imputation  to  the  contrary  ? 

Shy.  Ho  !  no,  no,  no,  no  ;  —  my  meaning,  in  saying  he  is  a  good  man,  is  to 
have  you  understand  me  that  he  is  sufficient.  Yet  his  means  are  in  supposi- 
tion ;  he  hath  an  argosy  bound  to  Tripolis,  another  to  the  Indies  ;  I  un- 
derstand moreover  upon  the  Rialto,  he  hath  a  third  at  Mexico,  a  fourth  for 
England;  and  other  ventures  he  hath,  squandered  abroad.  But  ships  are 
but  boards,  sailors  but  men  ;  there  be  land-rats  and  water-rats,  land-thieves 
and  water-thieves,  —  I  mean,  pirates  :  and  then  there  is  the  peril  of  waters, 
winds,  rocks.  The  man  is,  notwithstanding,  sufficient.  Three  thousand 
ducats ;  —  I  tbink  I  may  take  his  bond. 

Bass.   Be  assured  you  may. 

Shy.  I  will  be  assured  I  may  ;  and,  that  I  may  be  assured,  I  will  bethink  me. 
May  I  speak  with  Antonio  ? 

Bass.    If  it  please  you  to  dine  with  us. 

Shy.  Yes,  to  smell  pork ;  to  eat  of  the  habitation  which  your  prophet  the 
Nazarite  conjured  the  Devil  into.  I  will  buy  with  you,  sell  with  you,  talk 
with  you,  walk  with  you  and  so  following  ;  but  I  will  not  eat  with  you,  drink 
with  you,  nor  pray  with  you.  What  news  on  the  Rialto  ?  —  Who  is  he  comes 
here  ?  [Enter  Antonio. 

Bass.    This  is  Signior  Antonio. 

Shy.    [Aside.]    How  like  a  fawning  publican  he  looks ! 
I  hate  him  for  he  is  a  Christian  ; 
But  more,  for  that  in  low  simplicity 


308  VOCAL   EXPRESSION. 

7  He  lends  out  money  gratis,  and  brings  down 
The  rate  of  usance  here  with  us  in  Venice. 
If  I  can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip, 
I  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him. 
He  hates  our  sacred  nation;  and  he  rails, 
Even  there  where  merchants  most  do  congregate, 
On  me,  my  bargains,  and  my  well-won  thrift, 
Which  he  calls  interest :   Cursed  be  my  tribe, 
If  I  forgive  him  ! 
Bass.   Shylock,  do  you  hear  ? 
,S%.     I  am  debating  of  my  present  store  , 

And,  by  the  near  guess  of  my  memory,  I  cannot  instantly  raise  up 

the  gross 
Of  full  three  thousand  ducats  :     What  of  that  ? 
Tubal,  a  wealthy  Hebrew  of  my  tribe, 
Will  furnish  me.     But,  soft  ;  how  many  months 
Do  you  desire  ?  —  [To  Ant.]    Rest  you  fair,  good  Signior ; 
Your  worship  was  the  last  man  in  our  mouths. 
Merchant  of  Venice.  Shakespeare. 

STORY  OF  ELIJAH. 

And  it  came  to  pass  after  many  days,  that  the  word  of  the  Lord  came 
to  Elijah,  in  the  third  year,  saying,  Go,  shew  thyself  unto  Ahab  ;  and  I 
will  send  rain  upon  the  earth.  And  Elijah  went  to  shew  himself  unto 
Ahab.  And  the  famine  was  sore  in  Samaria.  And  Ahab  called  Obadiah, 
which  was  over  the  household.  (Now  Obadiah  feared  the  Lord  greatly: 
for  it  was  so,  when  Jezebel  cut  off  the  prophets  of  the  Lord,  that 
Obadiah  took  an  hundred  prophets,  and  hid  them  by  fifty  in  a  cave,  and 
fed  them  with  bread  and  water.)  And  Ahab  said  unto  Obadiah,  Go 
through  the  land,  unto  all  the  fountains  of  water,  and  unto  all  the  brooks : 
peradventure  we  may  find  grass  and  save  the  horses  and  mules  alive, 
that  we  lose  not  all  the  beasts.  So  they  divided  the  land  between  them 
to  pass  throughout  it  :  Ahab  went  one  way  by  himself,  and  Obadiah 
went  another  way  by  himself.  And  as  Obadiah  was  in  the  way,  behold, 
Elijah  met  him  :  and  he  knew  him,  and  fell  on  his  face,  and  said,  Is  it 
thou,  my  lord  Elijah  ?  And  he  answered  him,  It  is  I  :  go,  tell  thy 
lord,  Behold,  Elijah  is  here.  And  he  said,  Wherein  have  I  sinned,  that 
thou  wouldest  deliver  thy  servant  into  the  hand  of  Ahab,  to  slay  me  ? 
As  the  Lord  thy  God  liveth,  there  is  no  nation  or  kingdom,  whither  my 
lord  hath  not  sent  to  seek  thee  :  and  when  they  said,  He  is  not  here,  he 
took  an  oath  of  the  kingdom  and  nation,  that  they  found  thee  not.  And 
now  thousayest,  Go,  tell  thy  lord,  Behold,  Elijah  is  here.     And  it  shall 


STORY   OF   ELIJAH.  309 

eome  to  pass,  as  soon  as  I  am  gone  from  thee,  that  the  spirit  of  the  Lord 
shall  carry  thee  whither  I  know  not ;  and  so  when  I  come  and  tell  Ahab, 
and  he  cannot  find  thee,  he  shall  slay  me  :  but  I  thy  servant  fear  the 
Lord  from  my  youth.  Was  it  not  told  my  lord  what  I  did  when  Jeze- 
bel slew  the  prophets  of  the  Lord,  how  I  hid  an  hundred  men  of  the 
Lord's  prophets  by  fifty  in  a  cave,  and  fed  them  with  bread  and  water  ? 
And  now  thou  sayest,  Go,  tell  thy  lord,  Behold,  Elijah  is  here  :  and  he 
shall  slay  me.  And  Elijah  said,  As  the  Lord  of  hosts  liveth,  before 
whom  I  stand,  I  will  surely  shew  myself  unto  him  to-day.  So  Obadiah 
went  to  meet  Ahab,  and  told  him:  and  Ahab  went  to  meet  Elijah.  And 
it  came  to  pass,  when  Ahab  saw  Elijah,  that  Ahab  said  unto  him,  Is  it 
thou,  thou  troubler  of  Israel  ?  And  he  answered,  I  have  not  troubled 
Israel ;  but  thou,  and  thy  father's  house,  in  that  ye  have  forsaken  the 
commandments  of  the  Lord,  and  thou  hast  followed  the  Baalim.  Now 
therefore  send,  and  gather  to  me  all  Israel  unto  Mount  Carmel,  and  the 
prophets  of  Baal  four  hundred  and  fifty,  and  the  prophets  of  the  Asherah 
four  hundred,  which  eat  at  Jezebel's  table.  So  Ahab  sent  unto  all  the 
children  of  Israel,  and  gathered  the  prophets  together  unto  Mount 
Carmel.  And  Elijah  came  near  unto  all  the  people,  and  said,  How 
long  halt  ye  between  two  opinions  ?  If  the  Lord  be  God,  follow  him  : 
but  if  Baal,  then  follow  him.  And  the  people  answered  him  not  a 
word.  Then  said  Elijah  unto  the  people,  I,  even  I  only,  am  left  a 
prophet  of  the  Lord  ;  but  Baal's  prophets  are  four  hundred  and  fifty 
men.  Let  them  therefore  give  us  two  bullocks ;  and  let  them  choose  one 
bullock  for  themselves,  and  cut  it  in  pieces,  and  lay  it  on  the  wood,  and 
put  no  fire  under  :  and  I  will  dress  the  ether  bullock,  and  lay  it  on  the 
wood,  and  put  no  fire  under.  And  call  ye  on  the  name  of  your  god,  and 
I  will  call  on  the  name  of  the  Lord  :  and  the  God  that  answereth  by 
fire,  let  him  be  God.  And  all  the  people  answered  and  said,  It  is  well 
spoken.  And  Elijah  said  unto  the  prophets  of  Baal,  Choose  you  one 
bullock  for  yourselves,  and  dress  it  first ;  for  ye  are  many  ;  and  call  on 
the  name  of  your  god,  but  put  no  fire  under.  And  they  took  the  bul- 
lock which  was  given  them,  and  they  dressed  it,  and  called  on  the  name 
of  Baal  from  morning  even  until  noon,  saying,  O  Baal,  hear  us.  But 
there  was  no  voice,  nor  any  that  answered.  And  they  leaped  about 
the  altar  which  was  made.  And  it  came  to  pass  at  noon,  that  Elijah 
mocked  them,  and  said,  Cry  aloud  :  for  he  is  a  god  ;  either  he  is  musing, 
or  he  has  gone  aside,  or  he  is  in  a  journey,  or  peradventure  he  sleepeth, 
and  must  be  awaked.  And  they  cried  aloud,  and  cut  themselves  after 
their  manner  with  knives  and  lances,  till  the  blood  gushed  out  upon 
them.     And  it  was  so,  when   midday  was  past,   that  they  prophesied 


310  VOCAL  EXPRESSION. 

until  the  time  of  the  offering  of  the  evening  oblation ;  but  there  was 
neither  voice,  nor  any  to  answer,  nor  any  that  regarded.  And  Elijah 
said  unto  all  the  people,  Come  near  unto  me  ;  and  all  the  people  came 
near  unto  him.  And  he  repaired  the  altar  of  the  Lord  that  was  thrown 
down.  And  Elijah  took  twelve  stones,  according  to  the  number  of  the 
tribes  of  the  sons  of  Jacob,  unto  whom  the  word  of  the  Lord  came, 
saying,  Israel  shall  be  thy  name.  And  with  the  stones  he  built  an  altar 
in  the  name  of  the  Lord  ;  and  he  made  a  trench  about  the  altar,  as  great 
as  would  contain  two  measures  of  seed.  And  he  put  the  wood  in  order, 
and  cut  the  bullock  in  pieces,  and  laid  it  on  the  wood.  And  he  said, 
Fill  four  barrels  with  water,  and  pour  it  on  the  burnt  offering,  and 
on  the  wood.  And  he  said,  Do  it  the  second  time  ;  and  they  did  it 
the  second  time.  And  he  said,  Do  it  the  third  time  ;  and  they  did  it  the 
third  time.  And  the  water  ran  round  about  the  altar  ;  and  he  filled  the 
trench  also  with  water.  And  it  came  to  pass  at  the  time  of  the  offering 
of  the  evening  oblation,  that  Elijah  the  prophet  came  near,  and  said, 

0  Lord,  the  God  of  Abraham,  of  Isaac,  and  of  Israel,  let  it  be  known 
this  day  that  thou  art  God  in  Israel,  and  that  I  am  thy  servant,  and  that 

1  have  done  all  these  things  at  thy  word.  Hear  me,  O  Lord,  hear  me, 
that  this  people  may  know  that  thou,  Lord,  art  God,  and  that  thou  hast 
turned  their  heart  back  again.  Then  the  fire  of  the  Lord  fell,  and  con- 
sumed the  burnt  offering,  and  the  wood,  and  the  stones,  and  the  dust, 
and  licked  up  the  water  that  was  in  the  trench.  And  when  all  the  people 
saw  it,  they  fell  on  their  faces  :  and  they  said,  The  Lord,  he  is  God  ;  the 
Lord,  he  is  God.  And  Elijah  said  unto  them,  Take  the  prophets  of  Baal ; 
let  not  one  of  them  escape.  And  they  took  them :  and  Elijah  brought 
them  down  to  the  brook  Kishon,  and  slew  them  there.  And  Elijah  said 
unto  Ahab,  Get  thee  up,  eat  and  drink;  for  there  is  the  sound  of  abun- 
dance of  rain.  So  Ahab  went  up  to  eat  and  to  drink.  And  Elijah  went 
up  to  the  top  of  Carmel ;  and  he  bowed  himself  down  upon  the  earth, 
and  put  his  face  between  his  knees.  And  he  said  to  his  servant,  Go  up 
now,  look  toward  the  sea.  And  he  went  up,  and  looked,  and  said, 
There  is  nothing.  And  he  said,  Go  again  seven  times.  And  it  came  to 
pass  at  the  seventh  time,  that  he  said,  Behold,  there  ariseth  a  cloud  out  of 
the  sea,  as  small  as  a  man's  hand.  And  he  said,  Go  up,  say  unto  Ahab, 
Make  ready  thy  chariot,  and  get  thee  down,  that  the  rain  stop  thee  not. 
And  it  came  to  pass  in  a  little  while,  that  the  heaven  grew  black  with 
clouds  and  wind,  and  there  was  a  great  rain.  And  Ahab  rode,  and 
went  to  Jezreel.  And  the  hand  of  the.  Lord  was  on  Elijah  ;  and  he 
girded  up  his  loins,  and  ran  before  Ahab  to  the  entrance  of   Jezreel. 

1  Kings  la 


INDEX. 


Subjects  of  lessons  are  printed  in  CAPITALS ;  authors  from  whom  selections  are  taken,  ir 
Small  Capitals  ;  titles  of  pieces,  in  Italics;  and  topics,  in  Roman. 


ABANDON,  35-45 ;  hindrances  to,  46 ;  nec- 
essary to  simplicity,  81. 

Abou  Ben  Adhem,  208. 

ACCENTUATION,  97-101. 

Adam  and  Orlando,  298. 

Addison,  from  The  Spectator,  175. 

Affectation,  how  avoided,  81. 

Agnes,  204. 

Aldrich,  T.  B.,  Transition  from,  215. 

Allinoham,  Sunrise,  25. 

ANIMATION,  87-90. 

ANTITHESIS,  152-157. 

Apparitions,  Browning,  62. 

Apperception,  Nature  of,  26. 

Apple  Blossoms,  Martin,  44. 

Appreciation,  basis  of  criticism,  279. 

Arnold,  Edwin,  Message,  239. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  The  Himt,  294 ;  Requi- 
escat,  186 ;  Self -Dependence,  44 ;  lines 
from,  87,  203. 

Art,  defined,  16 ;  development  of,  227;  im- 
perfect methods  of,  39. 

Attention,  Nature  of,  19. 

Attitude  of  Mind  revealed  by  Inflection,  195. 

Aytoun,  William  Edmonstounb,  from  Flod- 
den  Field,  215. 

Background,  206. 

Ballads,  old,  277. 

Barbara  Frietchie,  295 ;  Transition  from, 
226. 

Barbauld,  Letttia,  lines  from,  108. 

Barton,  Bernard,  from  To  the  Winds,  193. 

Bassanio  and  Shylock,  Shakespeare,  307. 

Beattte,  James,  lines  from,  196. 

Beaumont,  Life,  110. 

Before  Sedan,  Dobson,  187. 

Bertrand,  Louis,  Padre  Pugnaccio,  67. 

Bible,  extracts  from,  1  Cor.  XIII., 
12;  Jeremiah  XVII.,  5-8,  215;  Job 
XXVIII,  Search  for  Wisdom,  136;  The 
Rich  Man,  222;  Psalm  XIX.,  The  Two 
Voices,  116;  Psalm  C XXXIX.,  1-12, 
212;  Psalm  OIL,  25-27,  205;  Elijah, 
30S  ;  Luke  XII,  16-29,  222. 

Blossom  Time,  In,  56. 

Boadicea,  Cowper,  96. 

Bloomfteld,  Robert,  lines  from,  26. 


Breath,  control  of,  needed  in  sorrow,  184. 

Browning,  Mrs.,  lines  from,  69. 

Browning,  Apparitions,  62  ;  from  Christina, 
257;  Epilogue  to  Asolando,  228;  Give  a 
Rouse,  182 ;  The  Function  of  Art,  250 ; 
Home-Thoughts  from  the  Sea,  91 ;  Italian 
in  England,  242 ;  My  Last  Duchess,  105 : 
from  Love  among  the  Ruins,  147  ;  Meet- 
ing at  Night,  Parting  at  Morning,  77; 
from  The  Mermaid,  168;  Up  at  a  Villa, 
Dovn  in  the  City,  305;  Wanting  is  — 
What  f  176. 

Brutus  and  Lucius,  162. 

Bryant,  William  Cullen,  from  Thanatop- 
sis,  68,  221. 

Building  of  the  Ship,  lines  from  Longfellow, 
54. 

Bugle  Song,  lines  from,  30. 

Burns,  Robert,  To  a  Mountain  Daisy,  86 ; 
lines  from,  91. 

Burke,  Edmund,  Marie  Antoinette,  72. 

Byron,  George  Gordon,  Lord,  Castle  of 
Chillon,  The,  258  ;  from  Childe  Harold, 
33 ;  Elegy  on  Thyrza,  157  ;  lines  from, 
45 ;  lines  on  Rome,  289 ;  Waterloo,  175. 


Campbell,  Thomas,  Maid  of  Neidpath,  185. 

Cape  Ushant,  92. 

Caelyle,    Natural  Supernaturalism,   251 ; 

on  poetry,  224;    Paragraphs    from,    208, 

234,258. 
Carlyle,  needs  pause  in  reading,  65. 
Carey,  Henry,  Sally  in  our  Alley,  86. 
Castle  of  Chillon,  Byron,  258. 
CENTRALIZATION,  110-116. 
CHANGE  OF  PITCH,  sign  of  naturalness, 

56-61  ;  as  a  mode  of  emphasis,  201-205; 

causes  of,  202-203. 
Charles  I,  Macaulay,  152. 
Child,  emphasizes  correctly,  144. 
Christina,  lines  from  Browning,  257. 
Christmas  Hymn,  Domett,  291. 
Circumflex  inflection,  189. 
Clang,  Clang,  239. 
Clay,  Henry,  Paragraph  from,  166. 
CLEARNESS,  249-250. 
Coaching,  277-278. 


312 


INDEX. 


Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor,  from  Ancient 
Mariner,  106 ;  from  Essay  on  Method, 
130-135;  Genevieve,  288;  from  Mont 
Blanc,  50  ;  lines  from,  159,  186. 

Color  expresses  feeling,  184. 

CONCEPTION,  26-34;   free,  31. 

Concord  Hymn,  lines  from,  101. 

Consider,  Rossetti,  137. 

Consolation,  Shakespeare's  sonnet,  83. 

Contrasts  in  movement,  illustrations  for, 
215  ;  necessity  of  practising,  54. 

Control  of  breath,  developed  by  touch,  102. 

Convention  of  France,  Mirabeau,  234. 

CONVERSATION,  266-269 ;  action  of  the 
mind  in,  98 ;  form  of,  117-125  ;  as  differ- 
ent from  soliloquy,  160  ;  uses  pauses,  62 ; 
variety  in,  57. 

Co-operation  of  powers,  necessary  in  Ex- 
pression, 28. 

Cowley,  Abraham,  lines  from,  79. 

Cowper,  William,  Boadicea,  96;  Loss  of 
the  Royal  George,  85. 

Craik,  Dinah  Muloch,  from  Now  and  After- 
wards, 210. 

CRITICISM,  279-282  ;  denned,  280 ;  desired 
by  students,  281. 

Crossing  the  Bar,  Tennyson,  216. 

Cuckoo,  To  the,  Wordsworth,  10. 

Cunningham,  Allan,  lines  from,  108. 

Curtain  Lecture,  Jerrold,  164. 

Curtis,  George  William,  Wendell  Phillips, 
248 ;  Paragraph  from,  91. 

Daisy,  from  Wordsworth,  22. 

Daffodils,  Herrick,  61. 

Dawn,  Allingham,  25. 

DEBATE,  272-274. 

Declamation,  cause  of,  99. 

DEGREES  OF  EMPHASIS,  231-234. 

Dejection,  from  Shelley,  97. 

Delivery,  aims  of,  249 ;  how  improved,  4-6. 

De  Quincy,  Thomas,  Solitude,  179. 

Derzhazim,  lines  from,  108. 

DEVELOPMENT  OF  METHOD,  244-247. 

Dialogues,  Use  of,  236. 

Dickens,  Charles,  Kettle  and  Cricket,  205 ; 
Little  Joe,  288. 

DIRECTION  OF  INFLECTION,  172-174; 
shows  process  of  thinking,  173. 

DISCUSSION  AND  DEBATE,  272-274. 

Dobson,  Henry  Austin,  Before  Sedan,  187  ; 
Ladies  of  St.  James,  287. 

Domestic  Asides,  Hood,  292. 

Domett,  Christmas  Hymn,  291. 

Doudney,  from  the  Water-Mill,  216. 

Drifting,  as  a  fault,  38. 

Dbummond,  William,  The  Lessons  of  Na- 
ture, 211. 

Dwight,  Timothy,  Rest,  138. 


EARNESTNESS,  253-257;  cause  of  aim- 
plicity,  81. 

Education  of  Nature,  Wordsworth,  25. 

EDUCATION   OF  THE   EYE,  69-72. 

Elijah,  story  of,  308. 

Eliot,  George,  lines  on  Speech,  67 ;  on 
Expansion,  290. 

Elocution,  narrower  than  Vocal  Expres- 
sion, 2. 

Effect  of  Distance,  Ruskin,  248. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  Good-bye,  151 ; 
from  Concord  Hymn,  101 ;  from  The 
Sphinx,  18 ;  lines  from,  78,  178,  212. 

Emerson,  Inflections  of,  194. 

EMOTION  AND  INFLECTION,  183-185. 

Emphasis,  antithesis  in,  153 ;  development 
of,  227,  232,  235,  244,  245 ;  how  increased, 
232 ;  illustrated,  110-115,  138-141 ;  in 
soliloquy,  160;  modes  of,  226-228;  re- 
quires subordination,  207 ;  Sheridan  on, 
152;  kinds  of,  231. 

Epilogue  to  Asalando,  Browning,  228. 

Essentials,  importance  of,  121  ;  how  tested, 
122. 

Evening  at  Rokeby,  Scott,  150. 

Excitement,  not  earnestness,  90. 

Expostulation  and  Reply,  Wordsworth,  126. 

Expression,  all  modes  should  be  studied, 
263,  264,  265 ;  definition  of,  47 ;  every  art 
a  form  of,  1 ;  how  improved,  1,  21 ;  modes 
of,  1. 

EXTEMPORANEOUS  SPEAKING,  269- 
271. 

Eye,  how  educated,  71. 

Fall  of  the  Romans,  230. 

FalstafTs  Reproof,  192. 

Farewell,  A,  Tennyson,  80. 

FAULTS    OF   EMPHASIS,    235-237;    how 

corrected,  256. 
Faults,  in  Expression,  38 ;  two  leading,  59. 
Fear  No  More,  Shakespeare,  108. 
Feeling,    dominated   by   ideas,   97 ;    needs 

abandon,  42. 
Fishing,  Anon.,  124. 
Function  of  Art,  Browning,  250. 
Fundamentals,  123. 
Flynn,  Bret  Harte,  167. 
FORCE   AND  LOUDNESS,  223-225. 
Form,  elements  of  vocal,  120. 
FORMS   OF  EXPRESSION,  263-266. 
Freedom,  14. 
FREEDOM   OF   INFLECTION,  193-196. 

Garrick,  Paragraph  on,  Sterne,  69. 
George  Third,  Thackeray,  93. 
Gettysburg,  Lincoln's  Address  on,  211. 
Glory  of  God,  Moore,  211. 
Goethe,  Without  and  Within,  55. 


INDEX. 


313 


Goldsmith,  Oliver,  lines  from,  33. 
Good-bye,  Emerson,  151. 
Grammar,   contrasted  with  Vocal  Expres- 
sion, 129. 
Gray,  Thomas,  from  Elegy,  175. 

Hale,  Edward  Everett,  on  Extempora- 
neous Speaking,  270. 

Hallack,  To  Arms,  The  Greek,  177. 

Hamlet  and  Horatio,  197. 

Hamlet  and  Polonius,  191. 

Hamlet's  Voyage,  Shakespeare,  132. 

Harmony,  in  Nature  and  Art,  15. 

Hampden,  John,  Macaulay,  247. 

Harte,  Bret,  Flynn  of  Virginia,  167 ;  lines 
from,  196. 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  from  The  Marble 
Faun,  73. 

Hazlttt,  William,  Knowledge  and  Wis- 
dom, 181 ;  Pleasures,  174 ;  Simplicity, 
178. 

Head  and  Heart,  152. 

Hemans,  Mrs.,  from  Graves  of  a  Household, 
221. 

Herbert,  George,  Virtue,  196. 

Hermione,s  Speech,  262. 

Herrick,  Robert,  lines  from,  33. 

Hesitation,  and  Pause,  63. 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  lines  from,  106 ; 
from  Old  Ironsides,  108. 

Homer,  Priam  and  Achilles,  84. 

Home  Thoughts  from  the  Sea,  91. 

Hood,  Thomas,  Domestic  Asides,  292  ;  The 
Lee  Shore,  109  ;  Pain  in  a  Pleasure  Boat, 
300 ;  from  Ruth,  32. 

Horatius,  lines  from,  Macaulay,  107. 

Hotspur's  Defence,  301. 

Howitt,  paragraph  from,  92. 

Hugo,  Victor,  lines  from,  208. 

Hunt,  Leigh,  Abou  Sen  Ad  hem,  208;  para- 
graph from,  256. 

Hunt,  The,  Arnold,  294. 

Hutchinson,  Helen  M.,  The  Mariners,  222. 

Ideas,  accentuated  in  two  ways,  113  ;  must 
be  discovered,  66. 

Images,  importance  of,  28. 

Imagination,  George  Macdonald,  262. 

Imagination  must  create  scene,  147. 

Imitation,  how  avoided,  205 ;  and  modula- 
tion, 52. 

Inflection,  Abruptness  of,  179 ;  and  color, 
184 ;  cannot  be  developed  by  rules,  174 ; 
compared  with  words,  170 ;  contrasted 
with  change  of  pitch,  204;  danger  in, 
177;  direction  of,  172;  free,  193-195; 
function  of,  171  ;  important  element  of 
conversational  form,  168 ;  modulation, 
168-171 ;  variations  of,  170. 


Ingelow,  Jean,  from  Songs  of  Seven,  48 ; 

lines  from  Widoivhood,  108. 
Instinct,  logical,  144. 
Intention  and  Extension  in  Logic,  115. 
Indifference,  opposite  of,  254,  255. 
Instinct,  penetrative,  147. 
Intensity,  how  shown,  232. 
INTERVALS  OF  PITCH,  201-205. 
Irving,  Washington,  The  Wreck,  138. 
Italian  in  England,  Browning,  242. 

Jacques  and  the  Deer,  298 ;  And  the  Foot, 

217. 
James,  Prof.,  on  Attention,  19. 
Jerrold,  Douglas,  A  Curtain  Lecture,  1&±. 
Job  XXVIII.,  136. 
John  Hampden,  Macaulay,  247. 
Jonson,  Ben,  Gipsy  Benediction,  80. 
Julius  Caesar,  Opening  Scene,  190. 

Keenan's  Charge,  293. 

Kellcgg,  paragraph  from,  225 ;  from  Spat 

taeus,  221. 
Kettle  and  Cricket,  Dickens,  205. 
Kingsley,  Charles,  The  Three  Fishers,  290. 

Ladies  of  St.  James,  Dobson,  287. 

Laugh,  Mental  cause  of,  35. 

Lee  Shore,  Hood,  109. 

LENGTH  OF  INFLECTION,  177-178. 

Lessons  of  Nature,  211. 

Life,  Beaumont,  110. 

Light  and  Shade,  compared  with  color,  119- 
121. 

Lincoln,  Dedication  of  Gettysburg  Cemetery, 
211 ;  paragraph  from,  138. 

Literature,  expression  should  study,  267 . 
thought  and  feeling,  47. 

Logan,  John,  from  To  the  Cuckoo,  201. 

Logical  Instinct,  how  developed,  144 ;  illus- 
trated in  a  story,  13S ;  needed  in  reading. 
136. 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth,  from  The 
Builders,  106  ;  from  Building  of  the  Ship, 
54;  lines  from  The  Old  Clock,  32;  Twi- 
light, 45 ;  lines  from  Wreck  of  the  Hes- 
perus, 296. 

Lord  is  my  Shepherd,  The,  84. 

Lost  Leader,  lines  from,  107. 

Loss  of  the  Royal  George,  85. 

Loudness,  not  animation,  89. 

Loudness,  undignified,  223,  224. 

Lover  and  his  Lass,  Shakespeare,  43. 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  from  Bigelow  Pa- 
pers, 190  ;  from  Commemoration  Ode,  117  ; 
from  Conversations,  67  ;  lines  from 
Launfal,  26,  66, 159  ;  from  Present  Crisis. 
179,  233 ;  from  Stanzas  on  Freedom, 
190. 


314 


INDEX. 


Lyte,  H.  F.,  Agnes,  204  ;  Lost  Love,  226. 
Lyrics,  develop  spontaneity,  41. 

Macaulay,  Thomas  B.,  from  the  Essay  on 
Milton,  155 ;  from  Horalius,  17G. 

MacDonald,  Geoege,  from  The  Imagina- 
tion, 262. 

Maid  of  Neidpath,  185. 

Make  Way  for  Liberty,  109. 

Manifestation,  53. 

Marie  Antoinette,  Burke,  72. 

Marmion  and  Douglas,  182. 

Marshall,  Wiseman,  on  Touch,  104. 

Martin,  William  Wesley,  Apple  Blossoms, 
44. 

Massacre  in  Piedmont,  Milton,  10. 

Melody,  Elements  of,  118. 

Memory,  how  improved,  275  ;  philosophical, 
275  ;  should  be  trained, 

Method,  defined  by  Coleridge,  129;  Cole- 
ridge''s  Essay  on,  130  ;  development  of, 
246  ;  in  description,  147-148  ;  of  the  igno- 
rant, 130 ;  IN  NARRATION,  138-146  ;  OF 
THOUGHT  AND  WORDS,  127-136. 

Midsummer,  lines  from  Trowbridge,  148. 

Milton,  John,  Late  Massacre  in  Piedmont, 
10 ;  from  The  Nativity,  68 ;  Picture,  from, 
33  ;  On  His  Blindness,  257. 

Mlrabeau,  The  Convention  of  France,  234. 

MODES   OF  EXPRESSION,  50-55. 

Modest  Wit,  Anon.,  197. 

Moir,  David  M.,  from  To  the  Skylark,  187. 

Monologue,  Emphasis  in,  161. 

Monotony,  Elements  of,  119. 

Mont  Blanc,  Coleridge,  lines  from,  50. 

Montgomery,  James,  Arnold  Winkelried, 
109. 

Moonrise,  Tennyson,  296. 

Moore,  Thomas,  Light  of  Other  Days,  288 ; 
lines  from,  211. 

Morris,  William,  from  All  For  the  Cause, 
260. 

To  a  Mountain  Daisy,  Burns,  86. 

MOVEMENT,  213-215. 

Muckle-Mouth  Meg,  Browning,  171. 

Myers,  Prayer,  48. 

My  Last  Duchess,  Browning,  165. 


Nativity,  Hymn  on,  68. 

Naturalness  in  Conversation,  117-120  ;  defi- 
nition of,  17  ;  misconceived,  39  ;  nature 
of,  37  ;  pause,  sign  of,  65. 

Natural  Supernaturalism,  Carlyle,  251. 

Nature,  art  near  to,  11 ;  methods  of  study- 
ing. 121. 

Nature,  Sonnet  on,  Keats,  282. 

Newman,  lines  from,  181. 

Night  and  Death,  White,  72. 

Nightingale,  The,  Bailey,  61. 


Objective  Study,  necessary  in  expression,  57. 
O  Captain,  My  Captain,  Whitman,  217. 
Ode  to  the  West  Wind,  Shelley,  260. 
Originality,  how  developed,  265. 

Padre  Pugnaccio,  Bertrand,  67. 

Pain  in  a  Pleasure  Boat,  Hood,  300. 

Palgrave,    Francis    Turner,     Paragraph 
from,  233. 

Parting  at  Morning,  Browning,  77. 

Passion,  Gamut  of,  narrow  in  many,  45  ;  in- 
creases touch,  106  ;  right  impulse  in,  74. 

Past  and  Poetry,  Carlyle,  224. 

Pater,  Walter,  The  Artist,  251. 

Pause,  as  a  method  of  emphasis,  209,  210. 

PAUSING,  62-67. 

Peabody,  from  Skater's  Song,  216. 

Pennell,  Henry  Cholmondeley,  from  The 
Rose  of  Etlrick,  26. 

Perception,  nature  of,  26. 

Pictures,  danger  of  effort,  29. 

Pine  Forest,  Shelley,  23. 

Pitt,  Paragraph  from,  183,  233. 

PHRASING,  73-78. 

Phrasing,  how  developed,  75. 

Phillips,  inflections  of,  194. 

Polonius  Address  to  the  King  and  Queen, 
135. 

Polonius  to  Laertes,  Shakespeare,  158. 

Prayer,  Myers,  48. 

Priam  and  Achilles,  Homer,  84. 

Proctor,  Legend  of  Bregenz,  lines  from, 
182. 

Psalm  XVIII. ,  291  ;  XIX.,  116  ; 
C XXXIX.,  212. 

Psalms,  contrast  in,  48. 

Punctuation,  of  printers  and  readers,  differ- 
ent, 74. 

Qualities  of  nature,  13  ;  of  art,  13. 

Rant,  100. 

Reading,  to  ourselves  and  to  others,  20  ;  two 

forms  of,  69-70. 
Read,  T.  B.,  from  Rising  in  1776,  178. 
RECITATION,  274-279;  development   of, 

263. 
Requiescal,  Arnold,  186. 
Representation,  51. 
Resonance,  218-219. 
RESPONSIVENESS,  45-49  ;  importance  of, 

122. 
Rhetoric,  distinguished  from  logic,  142. 
Richard  III,  Soliloquy  of,  94. 
River  Duddon,  Wordsworth,  259. 
Rossetti,  Christina  Georgina,    Consider, 

137  ;   Up-Hill,  176. 
Rossetti,  Dante  Gabriel,  Day  is  Dark,  222. 
Rogers,  Samuel,  Music,  79  ;  A  Wish,  167. 


INDEX. 


315 


Rules,  desired,  38-39. 

Rules,  example  of  evil,  58  ;  in  pausing  illus- 
trated, 75. 
Ruskin,  John,  Effect  of  Distance,  248. 
Rhythm  and  Touch,  114 ;  explained,  213. 

Sailor  Boy,  Tennyson,  90. 

Sally  in  our  Alley,  86. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  The  Chase,  145 ;  from 
Marmion,  212  ;  from  Dundee,  61 ;  Even- 
ing  at  Rokeby,  150 ;  from  Guy  Mannering, 
197 ;  Song,  73 ;  Song,  True  and  False 
Lover,  284 ;  T/ie  Maid  of  Neidpath,  185 ; 
Parting  of  Marmion  and  Douglas,  182; 
from  Pibroch,  79,  178 ;  Transition  from 
Marmion,  108. 

School  for  Scandal,  scenes  from,  237. 

Self-consciousness,  importance  of,  42. 

Self -Dependence,  Arnold,  44. 

SEQUENCE  OF  IDEAS,  18-25. 

Shairp,  Shakespeare  and  Goethe,  258. 

Shakespeare,    Adam   and    Orlando,    298 
Adam's  Speech,  1SS  ;  Bassanio  to  Portia 
127  ;   Bassanio  and  Shylock,  307  ;   Blow 
Blow,  288 ;  from  Cassius  and  Brutus,  176 
179 ;  Done  to  Death,  115 ;  Brutus  Solilo 
quy,  162  ;  Falstaff  and  Hostess,  131,  106 
Falslajps  Dismissal,  192  ;  Fear  No  More. 
108  ;  A  Fool,  A  Fool,  217  ;  Hamlet  and 
Horatio,  197  ;  Hamlet  and  Polonius,  191 
Hamlet  s  Voyage,  132  ;  Hamlet's  Soliloquy, 
To  Be,  161 ;  O  What  a  Rogue,  159  ;  Hark 
Hark  !  290  ;  Henry  IV.  to  Worcester,  131 
lines  from  Henry  V.,  107,  225 ;  from  Henry 
VII L,  225  ;    Hotspur,    225  ;     Hotspur's 
Defence,    301  ;     Opening    Scene,    Julius 
Cmsar,  190  ;    Lover  and  His  Lass,  43 ; 
Time,  102  ;  Merrily,  Merrily,  35  ;  Picture 
from,  32  ;  Polonius'  Farewell,  158  ;  Solilo- 
quy of  Richard  III,  94  ;  lines  from  Rich- 
ard III,  182;  from  Romeo  and  Juliet, 
186. 

Shell  and  Heart,  116. 

Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe,  from  A  Defence  of 
Poetry,  107 ;  from  Dejection,  97 ;  from 
Julian  and  Maddalo,  178  ;  Pine  Forest, 
23;  Ode  to  the  West  Wind,  260  ;  My  Soul 
an  Enchanted  Boat,  34  ;  lines  from,  32, 91, 
158. 

Sheridan,  on  Emphasis,  152. 

Sheridan,  Soliloquy,  School  for  Scandal, 
167  ;  Scenes  from  School  for  Scandal,  237 ; 
transition  from,  189. 

SILENCE  AS  A  MEANS  OF  EMPHASIS, 
209-210  ;  importance  of,  62. 

Silent  Reading,  70. 

Simmons,  B.,  Cape  Ushant,  92. 

SIMPLICITY,  80-86;  contrasted  with  ani- 
mation, 87  ;  destroyed  by  poor  literature, 


83  ;  test  of  greatness,  shewn  by  greatness, 

80-81  ;  sincerity  basis  of,  81. 
Sing-song,  nature  of,  99. 
Sir  Galahad,  lines  from,  18. 
Sister,  To  My,  Wordsworth,  43. 
Skylark,  Wordsworth,  94 ;  Moir,  187. 
SOLILOQUY,  159-165. 
Solitude,  De  Quincy,  179. 
Sorrow,  requires  touch,  106. 
Southwell,  Robert,  lines  from,  172. 
Speaking  extemporaneous,  269-271 ;  natu- 

ralness  of,  250-253  ;  needed  by  all,  269. 
Speech  and  Song,  differ  in  touch,  103. 
Speech  to  the  Players,  from   Shakespeare, 

224. 
Spencer,    Herbert,  definition   of   cadence, 

169  ;  on  economy,  88. 
Sphynx,  Kinglake,  92  ;  lines  on  Emerson,  18. 
Spontaneity,  how  developed,  40 ;  and  con- 

sciousness,  39-40  ;  nature  of,  37  ;  not  dex- 
terity,   45 ;    not    impulsiveness,    39 ;    of 

thinking  illustrated,  78. 
Staginess,  100. 

Star  of  my  Country,  Wordsworth,  96. 
Sterne,  Lawrence,  Paragraph  from,  69. 
Stevenson,  R.  L.      Where   Go  the  Boats  f 

25. 
STRAIGHTNESS  OF  INFLECTION,  188- 

189. 
Story-tellers,  sequence  of  ideas,  144 ;  good, 

rare,  268. 
Story   Telling,  24 ;   develops  conversation, 

266. 
Style,  how  developed,  89. 
SUBORDINATION,  206-208. 
Swinburne,  To  the  Storm  Wind,  91. 

Tables  Turned,  Wordsworth,  126. 

Taylor,  Sir  Henry,  Song,  286. 

Taylor,  Tom,  'Twixt  Axe  and  Crown,  302. 

Teachers,  Instructions  to,  7-9 ;  requisites 
of,  276. 

Tediousness,  nature  of,  65. 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  Crossing  the  Bar,  216; 
A  Farewell,  80 ;  from  Sir  Galahad,  18 ; 
The  Sailor  Boy,  91 ;  from  Ulysses,  101 ; 
The  Voyage,  34  ;  Roll  On,  287  ;  lines  from, 
30,  33,  72. 

TEXTURE  AND  TONE  COLOR,  218-221. 

Thinking,  effect  of,  upon  words,  76  ;  ele- 
ments of,  18  ;  kinds  of,  27  ;  progression  or, 
60  ;  shown  by  change  of  pitch,  202,  203  ; 
in  soliloquy,  159-160. 

Thyrza,  Byron,  157. 

TONE  COLOR,  218-220  ;  use  of,  219 ;  ex- 
tracts for,  221,  283-287. 

TOUCH,  102-106 ;  and  Texture,  10S  -,  and 
Stress,  104  ;  varieties  of,  105  ;  extracts  for, 
100-108. 


316 


INDEX. 


Trench,    Richard    Chenevtx,    from   Life    \ 

Through  Death,  233  ;  A  Contrast,  218. 
Trowbridge,  J.  T.,  from  Midsummer,  148. 
Tu  Quoque,  Dobson,  123. 
' Twiit  Axe  and  Crown,  Taylor,  302. 
Two  Voices,  Wordsworth,  282. 

Up-Hill,  Miss  Rossetti,  176. 

Ulysses,  lines  from  Tennyson,  101. 

Unity,  in  nature  and  art,  15;  needs  variety, 

59. 
Up  at  a  Villa,  Down  in  the  City,  Browning, 

305. 

Virtue,  Herbert,  196. 

Vocal  Expression,  and  aid  in  education,  276 ; 
clearness  in,  249,  250  •  development  of, 
263,  264  ;  near  to  nature,  11-12  ;  not  imi- 
tative, 2  ;  may  destroy  logic,  137 ;  modes 
of  improving,  2 ;  must  show  centre  of 
poem  or  speech,  111-113  ;  nature  of,  64  ; 
progressive,  13S  ;  teacher  of,  276 ;  tests 
thinking,  89  ;  views  of,  36. 

Vocal  Training,  nature  of,  1. 

Voyage,  The,  Tennyson,  34. 

Wanting  is  —  What  f  Browning,  176. 
Wars,  from  Zenobia,  152. 


Webster,  Daniel,  inflections  of,  194  ;  Use  of 

'  his  eye,  71 ;  Use  of  pause,  74  ;  Paragraph 
from,  257. 

Wendell  Phillips,  Curtis,  248. 

Westminster,  Addison,  175. 

Where  Go  the  Boats?  Stevenson,  25. 

What  is  Timet  215. 

White,  Blanco,  Night  and  Death,  72. 

Whitman,  Walt,  My  Captain,  217. 

Whtttier,  John  G.,  Barbara  Frietchie, 
295 ;  Pictures  from,  32,  107 ;  lines  from 
Wind  on  Marsh,  49  ;  lines  from,  203. 

Wish,  A,  Rogers,  167. 

Wordsworth,  William,  To  the  Cuckoo,  10  ; 
The  Daisy,  22 ;  Expostulation  and  Reply, 
126  ;  from  To  My  Sister,  43  ;  from  Ode  to 
Duty,  182  ;  River  Duddon,  259  ;  from  The 
Reaper,  32,  33  ;  from  Skylark,  90 ;  To  the 
Skylark,  94;  The  Tables  Turned,  126; 
Yarrow  Unvisited,  148;  Yarrow  Visited, 
149;  Picture  from,  83;  Star  of  My 
Country,  96. 

Wordsworth,  simplicity  of,  82. 

Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,  296. 

Wreck,  The,  Irving,  138. 

Yarrow  Unvisited,  148. 
Yarrow  Visited,  149. 


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